


The Honeymoon

by chevrolangels



Series: Holy Trinity [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Complete, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hawaii, Honeymoon, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Andrea Kormos/Benny Lafitte, Minor Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Minor Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Ocean Sex, POV Alternating, Rimming, Sexual Content, Switching, Tattoo Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevrolangels/pseuds/chevrolangels
Summary: Dean loves Castiel.Castiel loves Dean.They've been through a lot―college, pining, friends to lovers, long-distance―but now they're happily settled, Cas at the tattoo parlor and Dean at the engineering firm, both in their dream jobs. So why can't Dean propose?The third and final part of the Holy Trinity series. (The Graveyard and The Playlist)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Holy Trinity [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/122871
Comments: 30
Kudos: 184





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. Five years ago, when I was still in college, I was at a house party, looked up and saw a row of bottles lining the cupboards in their kitchen―and like everything in my life at that time, I immediately thought ‘I want a deancas au.’ (Let’s be honest, I still think that way.)  
> And lo, this fic was born. As the great Bon Scott said, “All the songs we do are basically about one of three things: booze, sex, or rock n roll.”
> 
> I published the initial part, got inspired to write a sequel a few months later, and always planned for a third part. I called it the Holy Trinity series after something stupid Dean says in the second part―The Graveyard is the booze, The Playlist is about music, and then, finally―the one I’ve been putting off: The Honeymoon, which is not entirely centered on, but definitely features, sex. 
> 
> So, here goes. More cheesy quotes about everyone’s favorite activity, and plenty of these stupid now-married dorks. I’ve really loved this au and the fluff fest it became―helps me take a break from the edgy stuff (Did I start drafting a Killing Eve au? Maybe)  
> For those of you who have been there since the beginning, bless you, and I hope the wait was worth it. For those of you just discovering this series, welcome aboard. I hope you enjoy the ride.

“Love is an ice cream sundae, with all the marvelous coverings. Sex is the cherry on top.”

―Jimmy Dean

xxx

_Hanalei, Hawaii_

_Now_

Dean props his head up on his elbow, just watching him.

  
  


Cas is snoring softly, cheek mashed into the pillow, his hair all disheveled and wild. The hair is mostly Dean’s fault, from last night’s acrobatics―but the twisted up position is all Cas, his arm halfway tucked behind him and his right leg bumping slightly against Dean’s. Dean snorts softly, reaching out to brush over Cas’s temple.

“Cas,” he says gently.

Cas doesn’t even stir. Dean rolls his eyes, flicking at his ear. 

“Caaaaaas,” he says, a little louder. 

Cas grunts, elbow jerking back slightly. He cracks open an eye, scowling prettily at Dean.

“Ow.”

Dean smiles.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

“Mmmph.” 

Castiel stretches his arm up in the air lazily before falling on Dean, burrowing his head into the warmth of his neck.

“Too early,” he mumbles.

Dean chuckles, pushing at Cas’s arm.

“C’mon, Cas.”

“ _Dean_ ,” he growls back, low and muted in his throat, and Dean nearly folds right there and then.

“Cas―”

Cas presses his lips to the line of Dean’s jaw, which he knows is his weakness, the bastard.

“We’re on our damn honeymoon, Winchester,” Cas murmurs. “We’re supposed to sleep in.”

With great difficulty, Dean resists, tapping at Cas’s wrist.

“If I don’t get up, I can’t make coffee.”

Cas’s other eye opens. 

He huffs.

“You make a compelling argument.”

  
He rolls over and releases Dean, pulling the sheets back over himself into a tangled lump.

Dean laughs, leaning over to kiss Cas’s bare shoulder.

“See you in a few,” he murmurs.

  
  


xxx

  
  


_Lawrence, Kansas_

_Then_

  
  


Dean stretches his back like a cat, humming slightly as he settles into the chair.

He feels a slight smack to his hip, a long-suffering voice in his ear.

“You done?”

Dean looks over his shoulder, grinning.

“Whenever you’re ready, Charlie.”

She rolls her eyes, but sits back, pulling on her gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine starts, and Dean turns back to his folded arms, leaning his cheek on his elbow. When Charlie presses down with the first sting of the needle, Dean barely tenses, letting out a slow breath.

Soon after, his eyes slide closed, that trance of slight pain lulling him into not-quite sleep, his brain actively working, thinking to fight against the awareness of what’s happening to the small patch of skin above his hip.

It’s his third tattoo, since the initial one Cas inked on his chest, but he’s still not quite used to the sensation of the needle moving over his skin. 

Charlie starts on a new line and Dean winces, dipping his forehead to touch his arms, keeping his breath even and deep.

“Almost done?” He croaks out. Charlie knocks him gently with her knee.

“We literally just started.”

Dean feels her readjust, another throb of pain stinging through him.

“Breathe, Dean.”

Dean inhales, closing his eyes.

He can’t distract himself with their usual banter today. Charlie is a professional, at the end of it all, and she’s mostly quiet while she does her stuff. Dean just focuses on breathing, and why he’s doing this in the first place.

He’d been rereading some of his favorites, and in between Cas’s fingers tracing his back and the pages of _Slaughterhouse Five_ , Dean had decided.

  
  


_So it goes._

  
  


It had always struck him, reading the words in a dimly lit hotel when he was young and sixteen and wanting to escape his world. Now Dean has everything he could ever want, but he doesn’t think the words are any less true.

He shifts a little, fingers clenching around the vinyl. Charlie _tsk_ s from behind him, the tattoo machine renewing its buzzing with a dull hum. 

The slide of the register drawer snaps him out of it, Castiel’s low voice rumbling out across the parlor’s main room.

“How’s it coming?”

Dean glances at Charlie’s reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite. She bites her bottom lip, tilting her head critically. 

“Good so far,” she shrugs. “If I do say so myself.”

Dean rolls his eyes. 

“Ever the dramatic. You almost had me worried there for a second.”

Charlie snorts.

“Well, your husband would’ve killed me if I messed this up.”

Dean looks over to Cas, who appears not to be listening, entering something into the tablet next to him on the counter. A nervous thrill flips Dean’s stomach, and he drags his eyes away, focusing back on the floor in front of him. He gives a quick laugh, shaking his head.

“He’s not my husband.”

“Well,” Cas’s voice says, and Dean nearly jumps out of the chair. 

He jerks his head up, to see Cas, smirking at the pair of them. Christ, he’s gotta put a bell on him.

Cas lifts one shoulder.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Dean gapes at him. Cas gives Charlie a wink, disappearing into the back room.

“Hey,” Dean calls. “HEY!”

Charlie shoves him back down.

“Stay _still._ ”

“That son of a―”

“Dean, I swear to god.”

  
  


x

  
  


Roughly one hour and forty minutes later, Dean is scowling at his side, fiddling with the edge of the bandage currently taped to his skin. Charlie slaps at his hand.

“Ow!”

“Quit picking at it.”

“You could’ve _scarred_ me.” 

“You mess with it enough and you’ll do that yourself,” she says matter-of-factly. “Hands off, keep that bandage on for 24 hours, then you can wash it. Soap and water. But I’m sure you know the drill by now. And Cas’ll probably nag you about it, anyway.”

Dean clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder. 

Cas.

Cas comes out from the back room, tossing the keys to the Impala in the air.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Dean snatches the keys mid-toss, thrilling at Cas’s offended face.

“Hey!”

“I’m driving.”

Cas crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“You really shouldn’t.”

“It’s a tattoo, not a life-threatening injury,” Dean retorts.

“With Charlie, you never know.”

Charlie tilts her head. 

“Who signs your paychecks, again?”

Cas looks at his bare wrist.

“And would you look at that, time to go.”

Dean huffs and grabs Cas’s arm, pulling him towards the door. 

Charlie calls after them.

“Don’t forget, you’re opening tomorrow! Nine sharp!”

Cas flips her off over his head.

  
  


Dean unlocks the Impala and slides into the driver’s side, wincing a little as the movement jostles his newly inked tattoo. Castiel notices, because of course he does, and reaches for Dean, frowning.

“You okay?”

“Hey, it’s―ow, tender.”

“Well, you didn’t let me drive,” Cas says airily. “The least I can do is make sure Charlie patched you up properly.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but relents, and Cas tugs up the hem of his shirt, eyeing him critically. Dean taps his fingers against the wheel, leg bouncing up and down. 

Castiel pauses, glancing up at Dean with a raised eyebrow. Dean clears his throat.

“Sorry, just―”

He swallows, breathing out slowly. 

“Want to get home.”

Cas nods absently, fingers poking and prodding the tender flesh over Dean’s hip.

But mercifully, he draws back, settling into the passenger seat, pulling out his phone. Dean begins the quick drive home, but finds he still can’t shake his nerves.

“Hey, um―Cas?”

“Hmm?”

Cas is distracted, tongue resting lightly between his teeth. He’s probably reading the news, more focused on the screen than what Dean’s saying.

“About before…”

Dean bites at his lip.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks.

“What did I say?” Cas replies.

“The, uh…not yet―thing,” Dean blurts.

Cas flicks his blue eyes up, fixing them on Dean. Dean thanks the non-existent god they’re at a red light, otherwise he’d be plowing into the back of some poor fucker’s sedan.

Cas’s lips curve up into a smile.

“You ever known me to lie, Dean Winchester?”

Dean swallows.

“No,” he answers quietly.

The light turns, and a chorus of honks start behind them.

Dean’s still utterly frozen, just staring.

Cas smirks.

“Light’s green,” he says.

Dean snaps back to reality, and steps on the gas. The Impala zooms through the intersection, but Dean is still incredibly jittery, his fingers twitching.

Castiel glances over.

He silently places a hand on Dean’s knee, squeezing slightly.

They’re quiet for the rest of the drive. 

x

“Sex is kicking death in the ass while singing.” 

―Charles Bukowski

The next morning, Dean waits until Cas leaves for work, watching him disappear around the corner and out of sight. He waits a few minutes more, just for safety, then goes to get the ring.

  
  


They’ve never really talked about it.

Of course they haven’t, seeing as both of them are experts in avoiding heavy topics of conversation―but they’ve been together for nearly three years now, friends for much longer than that―and Dean knows it’ll happen… _eventually_ …he just needs to nut up and do it. 

He’s been working on the courage for about a year now. 

Sam kept bugging him about it, since he had been the nosey asshole who discovered the ring in the first place―but it just never seemed to be the right moment. Dean is 100% sure Cas is it for him, knows that they’re going to be together for the rest of their lives, so what’s a few more months? Besides, the practical part of him keeps finding excuses. Planning a whole wedding takes a lot of goddamn time and effort, and while he’s completely fine with City Hall and a bottle of champagne, Cas deserves better than that. 

Then Dean had a large project at work. That ate up nearly three weeks. Then the tattoo shop received a boost of business and Cas was stressed and barely home, then away at an expo―

The timing just never seemed right. 

Luckily, Dean’s hiding place was rock solid.

Once he had moved in, he had to find a place to conceal the ring where Cas wasn’t going to find it. He originally thought about the underwear drawer, where Dean hides the pink panties that they bring out for ‘special occasions’. They’re definitely _not_ a secret to Cas, but Dean doesn’t exactly like to leave them lying around―they do have visitors sometimes, after all. He originally toyed with keeping it at the office, but he didn’t like the ring being out of the house. 

Then he hit upon the perfect spot.

  
  


Dean goes there now and digs out the black box, cracking it open. The pale ring gleams against the black velvet, and Dean sighs, relaxing.

He’s been chickening out, telling himself that he was waiting for the perfect moment, or something like that―but Cas’s comment yesterday got him all riled up. Dean carefully takes the ring from its case, hoping it’ll somehow bring a sudden wave of inspiration or courage. 

It’s the only thing he still has from his mom, who in turn inherited it from her mother, an old gold band. Before she died, she’d always insisted Dean would give it to whoever he was going to marry. For a long time, Dean hated it. It always seemed so boring, so plain.

But that was before Cas.

Cas loves old things. He loves simple things. His heart and personality is written all over his skin, so he doesn’t need it in his clothes. He prefers utility over style, which is why he’d had the same tan trench coat for nearly six years.

So when Dean rediscovered Grandma Deanna’s ring, in a box tucked into one of their Dad’s storage units they cleaned out a few years back, it felt like a no-brainer.

Fast forward to now, and Dean still hasn’t proposed.

He sighs, quietly replacing the ring and tucking it back into its hiding spot.

x  
  
  


Two weeks later and he still hasn’t done it.

He does, however, have a wedding present for Cas.

Dean had gotten the brainwave a little while after the proposal-that-wasn’t, when Charlie and Ash and everybody had been at the Roadhouse for Tuesday trivia nights. He can’t remember exactly how the topic came up, because he was more than a little half-drunk and was thoroughly occupied with playing footsie with Cas under the table. But the conversation turned to a tattoo convention that was happening in the next town over, and Charlie’s ensuing argument with Cas about carpooling and fitting all their expo stuff in her tiny Gremlin. 

Cas, despite all his insistence on walking everywhere, needs a car. 

And Dean’s got the perfect one.

A Lincoln Continental from the 70’s that Dean saved from the scrap pile―it needs new wheels and a redo on the exteriors―but the frame is good, and Dean’s gonna have the whole thing reworked as an electric, ‘cause Cas bitches at him enough for the Impala’s carbon footprint. It’s practical, ostentatious, perfect for his needs, and exactly the kind of thing Cas wouldn’t buy for himself. 

He shoots a quick text off to Cas as he’s leaving work, telling him he’s gonna hit the garage and will be coming home late. Nothing unusual, so Cas won’t be suspicious. He used to work at Andrea’s garage back in college part-time, and once she heard he was moving back to Lawrence, she enthusiastically welcomed him with open arms.

“Thanks again, for letting me do this here, Andrea,” Dean says as he passes by her office.

“You kidding? You were my best mechanic, back in the day,” Andrea says, tearing her eyes away from her computer screen. “And offer’s still open, if you want it.”

Dean gives a devil-may-care smile, pushing open the door to the garage.

“Only when I finally decide to retire.”

She shakes her head, going back to her computer.

His pocket buzzes just after he changes his clothes, and he pulls out his phone, smiling down at the screen.

From: Cas

_ >>ughhhhh me too _

_ >>it’s money night _

Dean chuckles.

Cas’s so-dubbed ‘money night’ is when they go through the receipts and file all the paperwork with the whole staff, so when tax season comes the IRS has nothing against them. It’s always exhausting and Charlie runs it like a Marine boot camp. She memorably kept them past 1 am one year, and Cas didn’t speak to her for three days after that.

From: Cas

_ >>see you at home _

_ >>if i don’t kill anyone first _

Sent:

_ <<deep breaths cas _

  
  


Dean tucks away his phone, gets on the creeper, and gets to work.

He’s able to get a good hour on the car, and she’s shaping up better than he’s dreamed. At this rate, he’ll be done with her in two months. 

“How’s she doin’?”

Dean grins, sliding out from under the carriage.

“Hey, Benny.”

He stands and wipes off his hands, grasping Benny’s briefly. Andrea’s husband, and a kickass guy to boot. 

“Gonna need to hammer out that dent before I can get the rear fender on, but otherwise, good.”

Benny nods, giving the Continental an approving once-over.

“Well, alright. You let me know if you need any help with her.”

Dean nods, and Benny turns to go, when a thought strikes Dean.

“Hey, Benny, actually―”

Benny stops and turns around, raising an eyebrow. Dean takes a breath.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

Benny shrugs, and sits opposite Dean on the workbench.

“Shoot.”

Dean twists the oil rag in his hands, unsure of where to start. He feels he knows Benny well enough at this point to ask, but he can’t seem to unscramble his thoughts.

“So―you and Andrea. I mean, you guys are awesome, and you work so well together.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Benny says, smiling. Dean continues.

“And you’ve met Cas, and we’ve been together for a while now and I’ve been thinking about the question, you know, and he’s definitely the one for me and I just can’t seem to―well, I mean, I have a ring, but it’s been, like, a year, and I don’t know why I keep dragging my feet, and I―”

He cuts off abruptly, finally looking up at Benny’s face. His normally calm demeanor is now twisted in concern, his eyebrows knitting together.

Dean sighs, dragging a hand over his face.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s just―”

Benny huffs.

“That was….a crapload of information, brother.”

Dean gives him a sheepish grin.

“I wouldn’t unload all this on you, normally…it’s just my list of people I know who are actually married is…short.”

Benny crosses his arms.

“Let me guess. You’re worried things’ll change after you tie the knot.”

Dean thinks.

“Huh,” he says eventually.

He hadn’t put those words to it, but now that Benny says it, it makes sense.

Benny clicks his tongue.

“Yep. Been the crisis for everyone since we started sticking rings on people’s fingers.”

He pauses, letting Dean think for a moment.

“Look, it’s different for everyone, but I can tell you what I know.”

He glances over towards Andrea’s office before continuing.

“When I first met Andrea, I was just…floored. She was beautiful. Words don’t even cut it, you know? My life changed when she entered it, Dean.”

Dean nods. He knows Benny’s done some time, and had some dark spots in his past. Far in the past, now that he’s running a successful business with his wife. Dean’s heard the stories over a few beers and a couple late nights at the garage. Benny continues.

“Everything I had been, or done, up to that point―it just seemed to vanish. I mean―” He chuckles. “We found it man.”

Dean smiles. The warmth in Benny’s voice is apparent, even after all these years. He’s just as in love with Andrea now as he was then.

“And yeah, I had some doubts,” Benny says honestly. “What if we got married and everything changed? But…it’s as easy as breathing, man. One day you’re not married, then you are. And when you have the right one, you know. And from what I’ve seen with you and Cas…”

He shrugs.

“It’ll be like nothing has changed. In the best possible way.”

Dean stares at Benny for a moment, before huffing out a laugh.

“Benny, I think you might be an angel sent from heaven.”

Benny laughs, scratching a hand through his beard.

“Don’t know about that.”

Dean shakes his head.

“Seriously, man. You could be a shrink. Or like a marriage counselor or some shit.”

Benny chuckles again, but at least he takes the compliment this time.

He clasps his hands, then raises an eyebrow.

“You really had the ring for a year?”

Dean shrugs. Benny laughs.

“Well, good to know you’re still dumb as ever.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean grins. “Some things never change.”

Benny stands, clapping Dean on the shoulder. 

“Glad I could help, man.”

“Thanks, Benny.”

Benny leaves, heading towards the office. Dean stands too, tossing the rag to the side. 

He tries as best as he can to clean up before sliding into Baby, but he knows he still smells like sweat and grease, and all he can do is hope he’s not staining the upholstery. It’s a little after ten, and Dean hopes he’ll catch Cas before he crashes, if he’s home at all.

  
  


He knows better than to ask Cas to marry him on money night, he’s not suicidal―but the talk with Benny has emboldened him.

Dean starts to grin, a bubbling feeling that starts deep in his chest, forcing its way out as a laugh.

He’s getting engaged. Freakin’ engaged.

  
  


When he walks into the apartment, Cas is face down on the couch, not moving. Dean shakes his head fondly, and walks over, poking his leg with his foot.

“Cas.”

Cas stirs briefly and groans, fluttering a hand.

“Mfffmph,” he says intelligently.

“Here―”

Dean kneels, grabbing Cas’s hand.

“C’mon, babe,” he says gently. “I’ll get you to bed.”

Cas reluctantly allows himself to be pulled up, then wrinkles his nose.

“You’re all oily.” 

Dean chuckles.

“And smelly, too, I bet.”

“Ugh,” Cas says, pushing him away. “I’ll pass.”

Dean laughs, watching as Cas totters off towards the bedroom.

“I’ll put dinner in the fridge for you,” he calls after him.

Cas gives him a tired smile before he shuts the door.

“What would I do without you?”

Dean sets about the kitchen, starting on dinner. Cas always crashes after these nights and inevitably wakes up in the middle of the night, starving. Dean cooks and saves Cas his plate, watching a few episodes of Dr. Sexy while he sips a beer.

Then he takes a shower. He spends a bit longer than he might usually, just in case Cas is in the mood for something else when he wakes up.

He pulls on a pair of boxers and climbs into bed next to Cas, who is already fast asleep, socks and everything still on.

Dean chuckles, and closes his eyes.

  
  


He wakes up, sometime later, he’s not sure how long it’s been. He feels a hand on his hip, and Cas is behind him, lips on his neck.

“You showered,” he says sleepily, grinding up behind him.

Dean can already feel Cas, hard and pressing up against his ass.

“You said I was oily,” Dean murmurs back, reaching a hand behind him to tangle in Cas’s hair.

“Mmmm,” Cas whispers, kissing down his shoulder. “I like it when you’re all oily.”

Dean turns in his arms, looping his arms around Cas’s neck.

“But now I’m clean,” he says in a low voice.

Cas’s voice drops, and he gets a look in his eye.

“Yeah?” He says huskily.

“Squeaky clean,” Dean murmurs, brushing his fingers over the tip of Cas’s cock.

Cas lets out a growl and bites Dean’s shoulder, rolling on top of him. Dean quickly flips over and grips the pillow underneath him, sending his hips back against Cas.

Cas kisses down his back, gripping the edge of his boxers, teasing him. Dean’s thickening fast, and he grinds down against the mattress, breathing hard. Cas moves back up, stopping by Dean’s ear.

“Can I eat you out?” He whispers. 

Dean groans.

“Fuck yes.”

Cas swears under his breath and quickly strips Dean of his boxers, leaving him bare. He settles himself in between Dean’s legs, and spreads him open, tongue warm and wet, and― _oh_. Dean digs his fingers into the pillow, pushing back against Cas’s mouth. It’s been a while since they’ve done this, and Cas has Dean a panting mess in no time, wet and loose and open, begging by the time Cas flips him over and pushes his legs up to enter him in one smooth motion. 

Dean gasps and Cas grips at his neck, bringing their foreheads together as he starts to rock his hips back and forth, thrusting into him at a measured pace. It thrills him, in a way, that Cas still has his T-shirt and everything on, and Dean is bare, Cas’s hands taking advantage and roaming all over his skin. 

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Cas mumbles, before feverishly kissing him, taking Dean’s face in his hand as the other stays possessively on Dean’s hip.

Dean can’t help it―he grins, smiling widely as he wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders. 

He can’t wait to marry this man.

Cas pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow. It just makes Dean laugh more, Cas’s expression contrasted with the fact that he doesn’t stop fucking him.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, but he’s starting to smile too.

Dean reaches up, dragging his hands through Cas’s dark hair.

“You. You make me happy.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“You sap.”

He thrusts his hips again and Dean groans, grabbing the headboard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Drumroll~ the moment you've all been waiting for! 
> 
> Have some belated (not holiday) fluff :)

“Sex is a part of nature. I go along with nature.” 

―Marilyn Monroe

  
  
  


xxx

Castiel tilts his head, scrutinizing the various display cases, a pinched look on his face.

Charlie tilts her head back, exhaling loudly.

“Dude, I can practically hear you thinking from here.”

She gestures impatiently.

“Just pick one.”

“I am not going to ‘ _just pick one_ ’.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, squinting at some of the pieces in the corner.

“This is something Dean will wear the rest of his _life_.”

The saleswoman behind the counter pinches her nose, sighing. She initially had been polite and cheerful, but that was thirty minutes ago.

Cas furrows his brow, hunching over the display case.

He had debated with himself for a while, but finally landed on going to a pawn shop instead of a chain. He didn’t want one of those cookie cutter jewelry stores that would upsell him―Castiel wanted something loved, something old, something with a history. His own family is too fucked to provide any sort of heirloom, but he knows it’s something Dean would like. Something that tells a story.

Charlie sighs.

“You know our lunch break is going to end eventually.”

Castiel gives her a look.

“You own the place.”

“Yeah, but I got an appointment at two.” Charlie checks her watch. “Pick one or I’m leaving you here.”

Castiel scoffs, but he turns back to scan the assembled choices before him.

The woman had tried to point him to the quote-unquote ‘men’s rings’, great ugly heavy things, more suited for a Superbowl championship than an engagement. Castiel quickly eliminated them as candidates, instead favoring the simple rings, carefully and methodically evaluating each one. Nothing with jewels, and nothing gold―Dean already carries the summer in his skin and sunlight in his eyes, in the very way he moves. Silver would suit him best. 

“Some time today, Cassie,” Charlie murmurs impatiently.

Castiel stops, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“May I see that one, please?”

He points to one, more hidden away, toward the back of the case. The woman removes it from its box and hands it to Castiel, who holds it in his palm, up to the light.

It almost looks like two rings stacked on top of each other, a delicate curve running through the middle. It _is_ slightly battered, but to Castiel that just shows it’s been well-loved, and nothing a good jeweler couldn’t buff out. 

Charlie smiles, laying a hand on his arm.

“It’s beautiful,” she says softly.

Castiel briefly closes his hand around the ring. He looks up, smiling.

“I’ll take it.”

The woman visibly sags in relief, taking the ring back from Castiel and boxing it up before running Castiel’s credit card. As she hands it back to him, a sudden thought strikes Castiel.

He whips around, staring at Charlie.

“Charlie,” he says. “I don’t have a ring.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow.

“Come again?”

Castiel gestures, flustered.

“Well, this is for Dean, but don’t I need to get one for me, too? That’s traditional, right?” 

Charlie purses her lips.

“I think you’re way past traditional at this point.”

She turns to face him completely, tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder.

“Dean’s going to say yes, you’ll be stupidly happy, and then you can figure out exactly what jewelry you’re sticking on each other’s fingers _together_. Just take a deep breath, alright?”

She takes his arm.

“Besides, don’t want to be here for another hour,” she mutters.

Charlie yanks him towards the exit, and Castiel barely manages to grab the box with Dean’s ring from the saleslady before they’re out the door, the bell above them tinkling in their wake.

  
  


x

That night, Castiel gets home before Dean, luckily. The ring felt like it was burning a hole in his coat pocket on the entire trip back, and during the afternoon, Castiel kept rushing into the break room to check on it, as if it might’ve disappeared. 

Castiel falls back onto the couch, and sets the small velvet box on the table in front of him, staring at it. Now that he has the ring, the idea of proposing feels more and more real.

It’s something he’s been thinking of since they started dating, or if Castiel’s being honest, even before that.

But in all their time together, marriage never seemed like a priority. There was graduation for both of them, Castiel getting his license, Dean finding a job―and despite how sure Castiel was about Dean, getting married at the tender age of twenty-two seemed idiotic, even for them.

Then last Friday happened. 

Dean, sitting in Charlie’s chair, finally getting the Vonnegut tattoo he’d been talking about for months. Castiel overheard the ‘husband’ comment, and of course he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease Dean.

But then Castiel saw Dean’s reaction, and how completely flustered he was during the ride home. And Dean only gets that way when he’s confronted with something he desperately wants.

So Castiel has been dragging Charlie to different shops, every day for the past week, and today, he finally found it. The ring he’ll use to ask Dean to marry him.

Now if he can just figure out how to do it.

  
  


Castiel stands, swiping up the box from the table.

He needs a good hiding spot, somewhere that’s the last place Dean would ever look. 

It takes him a moment, but soon Castiel snaps his fingers, smiling. He knows exactly where.

  
  


He digs out the vacuum cleaner from the closet. They have the goddawful thing for no discernible reason, as neither of them ever fucking vacuums. Castiel pops out the filter, intending to stick the ring box there.

But he doesn’t. Because there’s another small black box, sitting exactly where he would have put his own.

  
  
  


x

  
  
  


Dean takes the stairs two at a time, whistling.

He had a good day at work, finishing up one of his client’s projects, and he’s looking forward to getting home. He’s in the mood and happy and completely ready to seduce Cas, maybe even break out the pink panties.

Dean opens the door, and finds Cas, sitting on the floor, staring dumbly at something in his hands.

The closet door is open, and the vacuum is lying pitifully on its side.

Shit.

  
  


Cas hasn’t looked at him yet. Dean clears his throat.

“Cas…”

He stops awkwardly, just staring. He realizes he doesn’t know what to say.

The numb expression on Cas’s face has him worried. Did he see the ring and was now panicking because he didn’t want to get married? Was he figuring out how to let Dean down easy?

“How did you…how did you find it?” Dean asks lamely.

For a moment, Cas doesn’t move. Then he wordlessly pulls something from his coat pocket.

It takes Dean a moment to process what Cas is holding. In his palm, a very similar looking velvet box. 

“What.”

Dean gapes.

“No, NO―”

He points a finger at Cas, stuttering.

“You do not get to propose to me like that, this is BULLSHIT, Novak―”

Cas blinks, standing up.

“Wha― _me_?”

He gestures, yelling back.

“You’re the one who hid your ring in the vacuum, too―what if one of us turned it on?” 

“You know that’s even bigger bullshit,” Dean yells. “When have we ever fucking vacuumed?”

Cas stands and moves over to Dean so swiftly that Dean almost steps back. Cas stops, face inches from Dean’s.

“Marry me,” he says.

Dean trembles. 

“No.” 

Cas’s eyes widen for a split second, before Dean snatches his ring from Castiel’s other hand, holding it out.

“You marry me.”

Cas’s jaw tightens.

“I asked you first.”

Dean scowls, and they glare at each other, each gripping their respective ring boxes. 

“So."

Castiel gestures acidly.

“What do you suggest we do?”

Dean twists his lip, shrugging.

“Seems we got ourselves a Mexican standoff.”

Cas huffs, but crosses his arms, glaring. He sets his jaw, looking at Dean through narrowed eyes.

And that’s what does it.

Dean laughs.

  
  


He can’t help it―Cas glaring at him like he’s committed the ultimate sin would normally send Dean running with his tail tucked between his legs―but now, it makes him dissolve into full-blown stomach-hurting laughter, so much that Dean almost has to sit down.

It makes Castiel scowl even harder, and Dean is wheezing now, clutching his side.

“What’s so goddamn funny?” He growls.

Dean just continues to laugh, unable to speak.

The corner of Cas’s mouth twitches.

He steps forward, smacking Dean’s shoulder.

“You stop that―” 

Dean grabs Cas’s hand, pulling him in.

He meant it to be a dramatic, romantic gesture―but Dean misjudges the distance and they go tumbling backwards, hitting the floor in a way that has Dean's back groaning in protest, Cas messily falling on top of him.

But the end goal is the same―Cas is in his arms and now Dean can focus on kissing Castiel’s anger away, which―Dean smirks to himself―works like a charm. 

They break apart a moment later, but Castiel stays close, lips just barely grazing Dean’s.

“You bastard,” he mutters, and Dean grins.

He can feel the other box, loosely clasped in Cas’s hand, trapped between the press of their bodies.

“Both a couple of dumbasses, huh,” he murmurs, reaching up to brush a few errant strands of hair away from Cas’s forehead. Cas huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters, but his voice is thick.

Dean smiles, and eases them up gently, until they’re no longer horizontal. They’re technically both kneeling, but hey―when have they ever done things the traditional way?

Cas is staring at him, but this time it’s soft, open, his eyes locked on Dean’s. Dean takes a breath.

He kisses Cas one more time, thumb brushing over his cheek. 

“Cas,” he whispers. “Will you marry me?”

He doesn’t get a yes, not right away―because Cas is kissing the life out of him, but he’s nodding, and there’s a wetness against their cheeks, and Dean’s not really sure if it’s him or Cas that’s responsible.

“Of course I will, you idiot,” Cas says, after he breaks from Dean’s lips. “Yes. _Yes_.”

The next few moments are lost in a blur of kisses and whispered confessions, but they finally separate long enough for Dean to slip the ring on Cas’s finger.

“It was my mom’s,” Dean murmurs. “And I know you never met her, but she would’ve loved you, Cas, I know it.”

Cas looks at him for a moment, awed, before he drops his head against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean laughs softly, nudging him.

“Hey, what’s up? You don’t like it, or something?”

Cas jerks his head up.

“No, of course not, Dean, it’s beautiful, I just―”

He stops, opening up his own ring box. He pulls it from its case, holding it out. Dean looks down at it, taking in the delicate silver curves, the groove running down the middle.

“It’s just something I got at the pawn shop,“ Cas is muttering. “It’s no family heirloom, but―”

“Cas.”

Dean stops him, placing his hand on top of Cas’s.

“I love it,” he murmurs. 

He kisses Cas before he can protest anymore, pulling back and gesturing with his hand, holding out his fingers.

“Now c’mon, you softie,” he says, smiling.

Gently, Cas takes Dean’s hand, slowly slipping on the ring. It’s the exact right size, and once it slides on, Dean knows it’s the best ring Castiel could have gotten him. It’s a little old, sure, but it's perfect. Something exactly his taste, and he loves that Cas knows that about him. 

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and pulls him close, Dean’s hands coming to frame his face. 

“I love you,” Cas whispers.

His eyes are filling with tears.

Dean quickly shakes his head, cupping Castiel's cheek. He could never stand seeing Cas cry, even if it is from happiness.

“Cas, hey, hey, it’s okay―”

Dean kisses him, once, gentle.

"It's okay," he says softly.

Cas shakes his head, eyes closed.

"It's just..."

He looks up, pinning Dean with that endless blue.

“You make me so happy,” he murmurs. “I don't know what I ever did to deserve you.”

Dean breathes out a soft laugh, but his eyes are watering, threatening to spill over too.

“I can think of plenty of things.”

Cas laughs, gripping at the front of Dean’s shirt. He pulls him closer, kissing him again, and it quickly turns dark, heated, Cas’s hands sliding around Dean’s waist to grip at his back, one slipping under his shirt.

“Dean,” Cas pants. “Do you―”

“Yes,” Dean murmurs, nipping at Cas’s lip. “C’mon, baby.”

Cas moves so fast that Dean’s head spins―and he’s pulled up and Cas’s hands are underneath his thighs, hiking him up. Dean goes willingly, wrapping his legs around Cas, thumbs coming to his cheeks to wipe away the drying tears there, feeling Cas’s answering smile against his lips. He’s never going to be over the fact that Cas can fucking pick him up like it’s nothing―and Cas quickly speeds them from the living room to the bedroom, tossing Dean back against the bed. 

Dean’s already ridded himself of his shirt, struggling with his pants as Cas reaches down and pulls his t-shirt over his head, like Dean’s very own gift from god, baring his tanned skin and every inch of those beautiful tattoos.

“What?” Cas asks, raising an eyebrow at Dean as he kicks off his shoes and crawls onto the bed towards Dean, sliding his hands up his torso.

Dean smirks, grabbing Cas’s waist, urging him down until their hips align, the first electric press against his cock causing Dean to hiss.

“Just―ah―remember the first time we did this?”

Cas’s smile is warm against Dean’s neck, lips pressing to his pulse, mouthing words into his skin.

“How could I forget?” He asks, his voice a low rumble that makes Dean’s toes curl. Cas continues on his path down Dean’s neck, and starts a maddening slow grind against Dean’s dick, still infuriatingly separated by two layers of cloth. 

“You, you―” Dean sucks in a breath, tilting his head back as Cas slips a hand into Dean’s boxers, grabbing at the flesh of his ass. 

“You tripped over your pants,” he finishes, the tail end of his laugh turning into a punched out moan as Cas abruptly stops, one hand coming to Dean’s neck.

He tips Dean’s head back, one thumb gently pressed to Dean’s throat, his pulse fluttering under Castiel’s grip.

“I’d like to think I’ve gotten more coordinated since then,” Castiel’s voice growls in his ear.

Dean can’t do much more than nod, as Castiel’s other hand works quickly, stripping the rest of their remaining clothing until they’re bare, and then Cas starts to move, thrusting against him, smooth and heated. Cas’s mouth finds his again, swallowing Dean’s moans as Cas brings his hand to them both. 

He jacks both of them slowly, precome slicking the way, before he sits back.

“Here, let me get―”

Cas makes an abortive move, reaching towards their drawer for the lube and probably condoms, but Dean stops him, grabbing Cas’s wrist. 

He pulls him back, and Cas comes willingly, framing his hands on both sides of Dean’s head.

“No,” Dean pants. “Like this―I want you just like this. Right now.”

He thrusts his hips up against Cas to punctuate his words, and Castiel groans, eyes briefly sliding closed. He hooks his arms underneath Dean’s and twists their bodies impossibly closer, as Dean sighs, pressing kisses to Cas’s temple, his nose, the corner of his mouth. He tangles a hand into Cas’s hair, lips finding his ear.

“There will be plenty of time to fuck me later,” Dean murmurs.

Cas growls in response, his grip tightening on Dean’s hip. 

They start again, settling into a slow rocking rhythm that has their ancient bedframe squeaking, Cas bringing their foreheads together.

“You sure?” He pants out, breath hot against Dean’s cheek. “Thought it was my turn.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, searching for Cas’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“You would be keeping score.”

Cas answers with a particularly sharp thrust of his hips, and Dean cries out, clutching Cas’s hand.

They continue like that for Dean doesn’t know how long, but it’s Cas who comes first, his hips stuttering to a halt as he chokes out Dean’s name, Dean clinging to his shoulders, urging him there with gentle words and soft touches. 

Cas all but collapses on top of him, nuzzling into his neck and Dean smiles, brushing the sweaty dark hair back from Cas's forehead. His hand keeps working, stroking Dean even as he softens, until Dean’s coming too, adding to the mess on their bellies. 

Dean closes his eyes, breath slowing as Cas quickly cleans them up with some piece of abandoned clothing, tossing it to the side where it will no doubt gross out one of them later. But for right now he’s content to drift, as Castiel’s hand finds Dean’s again, their fingers slipping together. 

Dean smiles, his thumb brushing back and forth across the ring on Cas’s finger.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

Cas squeezes his hand.

“I know,” he whispers back.

  
  
  


xxx

  
  
  


“Good sex is like good bridge. If you don't have a good partner, you'd better have a good hand.” 

―Mae West

  
  


The next day, as Castiel walks through the door of Charlie’s shop, he feels like there’s a neon sign, pointing to the ring on his finger. He slowly walks past Becky, greeting her like normal. She smiles up at him briefly, then goes back to her notebook. Castiel blows out a breath.

He’s not going to _announce_ anything. It’ll just...come up on its own.

“WHAT IS THAT.”

Or Charlie will immediately see it.

“JAMES CASTIEL NOVAK, WHAT IS THAT?”

“Jesus Christ, Charlie―”

Castiel grabs her arm and pulls her to the side.

“Keep your voice down,” he says. “People are going to think you’re insane.”

But Charlie is hopping from one foot to the other, giddy with excitement.

“You just bought it _yesterday,_ I didn’t think you were going to do it so soon!”

“Yeah,” Castiel grimaces. “I didn’t exactly think so either.”

Charlie yanks him by the sleeve into the back room, quickly calling out to Becky.

“Be back in a jif, Becks―man the phones!”

“Mm-hmm,” Becky says absently, doodling in her notebook, as if that weren’t already her job description.

Charlie shuts the door behind them, immediately whirling on Castiel.

“Okay,” she says breathlessly. “ _Spill_.”

  
  


Castiel shakes his head, but tells Charlie the story, omitting what came after, of course. She listens, the stars in her eyes growing wider with every word.

“If isn’t that the cutest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Castiel scoffs. 

“It wasn’t intentional, it just kind of…happened.”

Charlie smirks.

“To tell the truth, I didn’t expect any less from you two idiots.”

She grabs his wrist, pulling his hand up towards her face so she can inspect the ring. Castiel, used to such treatment, lets her.

“And it’s his mom’s old ring?” She asks, awed.

“Yes,” Castiel says, gently taking his hand back. He’d already spent several hours in the early morning light admiring it, as Dean’s breath echoed silently beside him in the rhythm of sleep. It’s a beautiful old thing, and so precious. Dean barely has any remnants of his mom, and the fact that he gave one of the last things he had of hers to him, means…Castiel can’t express what it means.

“Okay, so when it’s happening, then?” 

Castiel smiles sheepishly.

“Not exactly sure. We didn’t really…get to discussing details.”

Charlie smirks.

“Castiel, you sly dog.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“Well, I demand an updated timeline as soon as you know,” Charlie says, suddenly businesslike. She whips out her phone, tapping away. “Next month is a bust because of our expo, but I am preemptively blocking out all of these weeks for you―”

“Charlie.”

“And I have the perfect dress, just been waiting for an excuse to wear it, honestly.”

“ _Charlie_.”

“You better start telling your clients you are un-a-vail-a-ble, ooh, the waiting list this will create―”

“Charlie, will you shut up for two seconds and let me ask you something?”

Charlie pauses, shooting him a glare.

“What?” She says, sounding slightly affronted at being interrupted.

Castiel takes a breath.

“Look, I am completely fine with you being Ms. Organize everything. We know that’s your strong suit, not mine.”

“Damn straight,” Charlie mutters.

“But I can’t really get married without a maid of honor,” Castiel says, smiling.

Charlie had gone back to the screen, distractedly pulling up her calendar and tapping on appointments―but at Castiel’s words she stops, looking up at him slowly.

“What?” She squeaks out.

Castiel shrugs.

“Dean thinks he’s completely usurped you as _his_ best friend, but I knew you first,” he says wryly. 

He takes Charlie’s hand.

“You may be my boss, but you’re also the best woman I know. So...” 

He squeezes her hand, smiling.

“Charlie Bradbury, will you be my maid of honor?”

“Oh my god, CAS―”

Charlie throws her arms around his neck, squeezing him so hard he can barely breathe.

“Of course I will, dude―” 

She releases him, but not before planting a huge kiss on his cheek, once again turning to her phone. 

“Oh my god, okay, I have so much to do―”

Her fingers fly over the touchscreen, and in a heartbeat she’s got the phone pressed against her ear, determinedly striding for the back room. 

Castiel shakes his head, pulling out his own phone to at least give Dean some sort of warning.

Sent:

>> _Heads up_

>> _Charlie’s about to call with a twelve point plan on wedding organization_

From: Dean

<< _Lol_

<< _Knew the cat would get out of the bag eventually_

Sent:

>> _I swear i didn’t even say anything she clocked my ring immediately_

From: Dean

<<🙄😂

<< _Of course_

  
  
  


“CAS,” Charlie yells from the back. “WHAT’S SAM’S PHONE NUMBER?”

Cas yells over his shoulder.

“HOLD ON!”

Sent:

>> _you told sam, right?_

From: Dean

<< _you kidding?_

<< _I told him 45 minutes ago and he's been freaking out the entire time_

Sent:

>> _well charlie’s ready to plan this entire wedding herself_

>> _sounds like she’s planning to rope sam into it_

From: Dean

<< _omg_

<< _amazing_

<< _that means all we have to do is show up_

  
  
  


Sent:

>> _I’m more than okay with that_

From: Dean

>> _uh oh_

Sent:

<< _what?_

From: Dean

>> _he’s threatening a bachelor party_

Sent:

<< _ABSOLUTELY NOT_

From Dean: 

>> _las vegas sound good?_

Sent:

<< _i hate you_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I blame Jensen Ackles.

“Skiing is better than sex actually, because for me a good round of sex might be seven minutes. Skiing you can do for seven hours.”

―Spalding Gray

  
  


“Centerpiece―chrysanthemums, obviously.”

Dean briefly interrupts his channel surfing to give a patented Winchester Eye Roll. Sam dutifully ignores him, propping his feet up on the couch.

“Rings, well, you and Cas already took care of that, Ellen’s closing down the Roadhouse for Saturday, and we already got the cake―”

“And pie,” Dean interjects.

“And pie,” Sam replies snottily. “Yes, Dean, I didn’t forget.”

Dean smirks, setting the remote down.

“You know, if your law career goes belly up, you could always have a successful career as a wedding planner.”

“Dude, if I wasn’t here, you’d probably be getting married in a ditch.”

“As if Charlie would allow that.”

“Valid point.”

Sam taps something else on his tablet, not even protesting when Dean nudges his feet back off the couch.

“Then your suit’s going to be ready by Friday, and we’re all set.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean says, throwing him a grin. Sam doesn’t even look up.

“It’s Sam.”

Dean snickers, but doesn’t push it.

Because despite all his teasing, he is incredibly grateful. Sam flew in early to help with all the wedding stuff, taking the bulk of the arrangements upon himself, (with Charlie’s help, of course) and it’s really only because of them that this wedding is happening _now_ instead of some undetermined point in the future. 

The commercials come on and Dean quickly flips the TV on mute, glancing around.

“Where’s Jess?”

Sam hums, still tapping away at his tablet. 

“She and Charlie went to check on their dress alterations,” he says absently. 

“Did they now?”

Dean raises his voice, yelling over his shoulder.

“WONDER WHO’S HOLDING THE FORT DOWN AT THE SHOP.”

“It’s been, like, literally ten minutes,” comes the sarcastic reply. 

Cas emerges from the kitchen, a bagel in one hand and his thermos in the other. 

“It’s not my fault all the shops downtown don’t know how to make a decent cup of coffee,” he says grumpily.

Sam looks back at Cas, frowning.

“Coffee?” He asks. “At three in the afternoon?”

Dean smirks, grabbing the remote again.

“Cas doesn’t function past five without at least four cups. You’re welcome, by the way,” he says, indicating the thermos.

Cas comes up behind Dean on the couch, leaning by his ear.

“Thanks, love.”

He pops the bagel in his mouth and brushes his hand through Dean’s hair before he heads out the door. Dean feels his cheeks heat up, an involuntary response of delight and embarrassment that always seems to happen when Cas shows him the slightest bit of affection. He shoots a glance over at Sam, hoping there’s some chance he might have missed it.

No such luck. Sam is watching gleefully, and he puckers his lips at Dean, making a kissy face. Dean flushes again.

“Shut up.”

  
  


Charlie and Jess get back about an hour and a half later, and Charlie launches into a seven-minute long diatribe about women’s dress sizes and their complete lack of correlation with anything resembling reality, while Jess sits down next to Sam, listening with an amused expression. 

Dean flips the remote, shaking his head.

“You know, I have never been more glad to be a dude.”

Sam gives him a look, then reaches over, taking Jess’s hand.

“Well, _I_ thank you for your dedication,” he says, kissing her cheek. 

Dean, never one to pass up an opportunity, gags theatrically. Charlie kicks him.

Jess laughs, shaking her head.

“It was okay. I’m just glad we got out of there, before―”

She cuts off with a suddenly guilty expression, shooting a glance over at Sam. 

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Before what?” He asks suspiciously.

Jess shifts, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.

“Um…” She shrugs. “Y’know.” 

“Closing!” Charlie blurts suddenly. 

Dean narrows his eyes further. Charlie clears her throat, barreling on.

“I mean―I was bitching about making it back to the shop the entire time, poor Jess was a saint for putting up with me,” she finishes, shooting Jess a furtive look. Jess’s eyes widen, and she nods vigorously.

“Yup,” she says all too quickly. “Absolutely.”

Dean squints.

“But Cas said he was closing tonight,” he says, gesturing slowly. Charlie’s usually number one on the list of people who try to get out of closing, so if this is an excuse for something, it’s a really lame one.

Charlie shrugs. 

“Yeah, I know, just figured I’d stop in real quick and, uh...check on things.”

“But―”

“Gotta go!” Charlie says, cutting him off.

She leaps up, giving them a quick salute before the door slams behind her. 

Dean blinks.

“Well, that was weird.”

Sam clears his throat, looking away. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, seeing a text from Ellen about appetizers for Saturday. He unlocks his phone to answer, completely missing the poignant look Jess gives Sam.

“You know what I feel like?” Jess says suddenly. “Ice cream.”

“There’s some Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer,” Dean answers absently, thumbs moving over the keyboard. 

Sent:

_ << would love some sliders and definitely those awesome fried pickles you had at Thanksgiving _

From: Ellen

>> _u got it hon_

_ >> ❤️ _

“Sam,” Jess says brightly, reaching out to tug on a lock of Sam’s hair. “Weren’t you telling me about something that opened up downtown? That new place you wanted to try?”

Sam fidgets, coughing nervously.

“Yes. Definitely. We should―go there. Now. All three of us!”

Something in Sam’s stilted tone sets off alarm bells in Dean’s head. He slowly lowers his phone, squinting at the pair of them.

“Why are you guys acting so weird?”  
  


They quickly exchange a glance, before looking back at Dean.

“Weird?” Sam chuckles, but it’s high and false. “What are you talking about?”

Dean gives him a look.

“Sam, I love you, but you’re a fucking terrible actor.” He glances back at his phone. “And Charlie running off all shady, it’s almost as if―”

Dean stops dead.

He slowly swivels his head, blinking. 

“No,” he whispers in betrayal. “You didn’t.”

“Oh,” Sam says, a wide smile spreading across his face. “We did.” 

Dean tries to make a run for it, but curse Sam and his stupid gigantic frame―he grabs Dean’s arm and gets him in a headlock, while Jess snatches his phone, holding it hostage. 

Dean struggles for a moment, then goes limp in Sam’s arms, glaring at them in defeat. 

“That B.S. Charlie was spouting...she’s going to kidnap Cas, isn’t she?”

Jess’s smile grows wider. 

“Yup,” she answers. “And then we’re all going to her apartment for your bachelor―”

“Bachelor party,” Dean finishes with her. He drops his head, groaning.

Jess whips his phone up, fingers flying.

“And...text from supposedly ‘you’ to Cas, telling him to go with Charlie…and―sent.”

Dean scowls, pointing an accusing finger.

“Jess, I know you’re my brother’s girlfriend, but I will fight you.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“Like she wouldn’t kick your ass.”

“And you’re dead to me, Samuel,” Dean growls.

“That’s the spirit,” Sam says, propping him up. 

The pair of them wheel Dean out the doorway, frog-marching him down the hallway. Dean makes a last ditch effort and tries to bolt from the elevator just before the doors close, but Sam anticipates it, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. 

They manhandle him into the Impala and Dean sits in the back, fuming, arms tightly crossed.

“I refuse to be a part of this,” he mutters.

  
  


Flash forward to thirty minutes later, where Dean is somehow a part of this.

  
  


Cas and Charlie actually end up arriving after them, Cas all disheveled and hair sticking up every which way―which tells Dean he also was wrestled into being there. Damn Charlie and her supernatural yoga arm strength. 

Dorothy, who’s been Charlie’s girlfriend even longer than he and Cas have been dating, serves them all shots of something violently pink, and Charlie in- _sists_ , even though most of them are pushing or past thirty, and Dean hasn’t done shots since college. Then they blindfold the pair of them, Cas muttering curses under his breath the entire time, to play Pin the Kiss on a life-sized poster of Indiana Jones, (which, okay, rude―Dean told Charlie that Harrison Ford was his bisexual awakening in _confidence_ ), then they take a quiz which is basically the Newlywed Game, but on paper. Cas only gets mad at him once, when they’re asked to name each other’s best feature, and Cas picks ‘his eyes’ whereas Dean writes ‘his ass’. But they mostly kill it, and retreat into smug superiority as they watch Sam and Jess struggle through the same questions. 

“But you _do_ hog the bed covers.”

“Only because you steal them from me first!”

“And we didn’t have our first kiss at Memorial Church, it was outside, in the Quad.”

“Okay, _technicality._ ”

With much wheedling and complaining, they finally get Charlie to agree to a normal game of poker, but that plan goes sideways after gross pink shot #3. Charlie bypasses the deck of cards for yet another stupid gimmicky game, which is precisely why they didn’t want these idiots throwing them a bachelor party in the first place. 

Dean rolls his eyes, resigning himself to their fate, leaning back in his seat. Cas’s warmth is a strong solid line next to him, and okay, maybe he snuggles a bit, his cheek pressed against Cas’s shoulder as he watches Dorothy and Charlie squabbling good-naturedly over the next round of drinks. Cas nudges him slightly with his chin, and Dean smiles, glancing up. He catches Cas’s eye, and Cas smiles back at him, all soft and sweet.

Cas’s hand finds Dean’s knee, and he squeezes gently. He’s doing that thing again where he looks like he can read Dean’s mind just by looking into his eyes, and Dean’s fully on board. Because he’s startin’ to think about the end of this party when they’ll go back to their own apartment, with their own bed, and Dean can get his hands on that stupid messy hair and just―

“ _PDA_ ,” Charlie singsongs. “Save it for later, gentlemen.”

Dean blinks, pulling back abruptly. He didn’t even realize he was halfway to crawling into Cas’s lap―and Sam is gaping at him, scandalized. Dean clears his throat, and hastily arranges himself into a more PG-rated version of contact with Cas.

He still leans in, whispering out of the corner of his mouth.

“Is it bad etiquette to murder your party host?” Dean mumbles. 

Cas chuckles, dropping a kiss to his temple. He lowers his lips to Dean’s ear, whispering so only he can hear.

“I can’t wait to take you home,” he murmurs.

Dean flushes, heat creeping down his neck and starting to swirl low in his belly. He can practically feel Cas smirking as the bastard takes his hand, interlacing their fingers, sweeping his thumb over his.

Charlie starts handing out cards, and Cas takes one, eyebrows shooting up. Dean leans over, peering at the printed words.

Oh, hell no.

“Sex bingo?” Cas asks incredulously. 

“Oh my god,” Dean says, dragging a hand down his face. 

If he was worried about popping a boner in front of his brother, he certainly isn’t now. Whoever thought it was a good idea to take possibly the unsexiest game ever and throw in a ‘naughty element’ definitely did not deserve their paycheck.

Dorothy leans over, snagging Charlie’s glass from her hand.

“I played this at my cousin’s bachelorette,” she says, smirking. “It’s the best.”

Dean looks over Cas’s shoulder.

“How do you even win this?”

“Well, we’ve already done like half of these,” Cas says matter-of-factly.

Sam spits his beer across the rug.

  
  
  


They finally manage to make their excuses and get the hell out of there about half an hour later, Dorothy pressing sloppy kisses to both of their cheeks before shooing them out the door. Dean grudgingly returns Charlie’s hug and mumbles under his breath about how maybe this bachelor party might have been kinda fun, but by no means is she allowed to tell Sam. She just grins back, squeezing him tight.

“Get out of here,” she says, pointing at them. “And get yourselves home safe.”

“Roger that, Bradbury,” Cas says as they walk down the hall, tipsily slinging an arm around Dean’s waist. Dean calls back to her.

“We’re still mad at you, by the way.”

“Shut up,” Charlie shoots back. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  
  


x

  
  


Dean stumbles through the doorway to their bedroom, Cas right behind him, already shucking his shirt.

“God, I thought we were going to be there forever.”

Dean turns around as Cas’s hand finds the back of his neck, pulling Dean in for a bruising kiss.

“Mmph―okay, don’t tell anyone―”

Cas pushes him back and Dean hits the mattress, Cas climbing on top of him and finding his mouth again.

“But―oh, _fuck_.”

Cas just went for Dean’s dick with little to no preamble, and is now twisting his wrist in a way that makes some of Dean’s higher brain functions go offline. 

“Yes?” Cas murmurs, nipping at his lower lip. “Tell anyone what?”

Dean breathes in, dropping his head back as Cas’s mouth travels down his neck, kisses burning in his wake. 

“Some of those games were actually kind of fun,” Dean finally manages, once Cas temporarily abandons his dick and proceeds to rid Dean of the rest of his clothes. 

Cas snorts, tugging at Dean’s left sock.

“You enjoyed sex bingo?”

“I enjoy parts of it,” Dean says, wiggling his hips to emphasize the point. That earns him a smack to his thigh, and Dean retaliates by flipping Cas over and kissing the breathless laughter off his face, until they’re both panting and grinding against each other in a desperate need to get closer.

“You said it yourself,” Dean gasps out sometime later, as Cas drags his tongue up the underside of his dick. 

“What?” Cas says, jacking him slowly. 

“We’ve―shit―we’ve only done half of the things on that card,” Dean stutters out, pretty proud of himself for being able to form full sentences at this point.

Cas pauses, and sits up. He cocks an eyebrow at Dean, a sly look in his eye.

“Only?” He repeats. “You taking that as a challenge, Winchester?”

Dean shrugs, grinning. 

“I’d like to think of it as more of a checklist.”

Cas snorts, grabbing the lube bottle and tossing it to Dean as he leans back, propping his hips up on a pillow.

“Dean, I love you, but I told you I’m not dressing up as Dr. Sexy.” 

“Not that, but like―”

Dean pops the cap and scoots in between Cas’s legs, drizzling his fingers with lube.

“Roleplay. I dunno. It could be fun.”

Cas teasingly knocks him with his knee, but pauses. He tilts his head, looking at Dean in that piercing way again.

“You’ve thought about this before.”

Dean blushes. 

“Maybe.”

Cas sits up slowly, leaning in until his lips are hovering over Dean’s.

“Thinking about me in that vest, huh.”

Dean flushes even hotter, pushing Cas back against the mattress. 

Okay, so maybe Cas knows about Dean’s Harrison Ford thing, too. 

“Well, you Solo me all the time, so it really wouldn’t be that different,” Dean retorts, slipping his fingers down.

Cas breathes in sharply as Dean presses in, sliding his hands up Dean’s arms. 

“So, does that make you Princess Leia?” He asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

Dean pauses.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t think this through.”

Cas starts to laugh, the tail end of it turning into a moan as Dean crooks his fingers. 

“I-imagine you in that bikini―”

“Okay, you know what, forget I said anything.”

But he’s grinning, and Cas’s laugh is infectious. Cas sits up and straddles Dean, pulling at his hair.

“Don’t think your hair is long enough for the buns,” he says, laughing.

Dean snorts and smacks his hand away, bumping their noses together.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, indicating Cas’s bedhead. “Out of the pair of us, you would be the scruffy-looking nerfherder.”

Cas’s eyes widen in mock-shock.

“Who’s scruffy-looking?” He intones in his best Han impression.

Dean laughs so hard he falls off the bed.

  
  
  


xxx

  
  
  


Saturday morning comes slowly to Dean, and he curls himself tighter underneath the covers, not wanting to open his eyes. The bed is too soft, the sheets warm.

He stretches a hand out to the other side of the bed, cracking open an eye when he finds it empty. Before Dean can feel disappointment about missing out on some pre-wedding canoodling, he spots the note on the pillow.

  
  


_Figured I’d let you sleep in. Also, it’s bad luck or something, right?_

_See you at the Roadhouse._

A curling heart, _Cas_ scribbled next to it.

  
  


Dean smiles, brushing a thumb over the letters.

  
  


Then he hops up out of bed, excitement building and bubbling up through him. 

Nobody home means he can sing at the top of his lungs while making breakfast in his boxers―and not one damn person on this earth can rain on Dean’s parade today, because he’s getting fucking _married._

Bacon, eggs, even some biscuits he whipped up real quick―Dean’s twirling by the stove when Sam unceremoniously barges in, ruining Dean’s particularly spectacular recreation of the guitar solo from ‘Hotel California’, if he does say so himself. 

“You know, I would say I’m surprised, but I’m really not,” Sam says from the doorway, already in his suit.

Dean flips off the burners, scowling. 

“Dude, we still got like, an hour.”

“Would it kill you to put on a shirt?”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, Samantha.”

But he obliges, pulling on a ratty t-shirt to finish the rest of his breakfast, Sam keeping him company at the table. They shoot the shit about nothing in particular, and it isn’t until Sam’s phone beeps that Dean realizes how late it is. 

Sam pulls it out to check the time, grimacing. 

“You better get a move on,” he says. “Charlie’ll kill us if we’re late.”

Dean is already bolting towards the bedroom, yelling over his shoulder.

“We’re not going to be late, because unlike _some_ of us, I don’t need to spend twenty minutes on my hair.”

Sam rolls his eyes, swiping open his phone to message Charlie.

Approximately eighteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Dean is tightening his tie in the mirror, Sam coming up to check on his progress. Dean smiles, winking at his brother.

“Well, look at that,” he says, finishing his tie and clapping Sam on the back. “We do clean up nice.”

Sam smirks, reaching out to pluck at Dean’s dress shirt.

“Decided not to go with the blue?”

Dean smacks his hand away.

“That was never happening, and you know it.” 

In the first stages of wedding planning, Charlie took Cas to the tailor’s, and brought him back in a deep blue suit that had Dean scraping his jaw up on the floor. He then proceeded to kick Charlie out and show Cas how much he thoroughly, _thoroughly_ appreciated the look. Cas, asshole that he is, suggested to Dean, as they lay in bed, sweated and exhausted, that if he liked the suit so much, he should get one that matched. Dean just pushed him off the bed.

Dean turns back and looks at the pair of them in the mirror, just taking in the sight. Sam nudges him slightly.

“Any second thoughts?” He asks, teasing. Dean smiles, and shakes his head.

“No way.”

He smoothes a hand down his tie again.

“Just wish Mom was here to see this,” he says softly.

Sam smiles sadly, and grips Dean’s shoulder, comforting him without words.

  
  
  


They’re quiet for a moment, and Dean is so happy he feels like he might burst. He’s got the best little brother in the world, and Cas is waiting for him at the Roadhouse, waiting to begin the rest of their lives together.

“Um, not to crush the moment...” Sam says, lowering his voice. “But Charlie will actually murder me if I don’t get you there on time.”

Dean scoffs and punches him in the shoulder.

x

  
  


They have to leave Baby behind, something Dean has already spent plenty of time grumbling about. He and Cas are going to be coming back home tonight, but their flight to Hawaii is early the next morning, and they’re going to be gone for almost two weeks, so Baby is already safely ensconced in her garage. Now Dean just has to reconcile himself with the fact that he’s being driven to his wedding in a _Prius_. They won’t even be able to take Cas’s present―Benny’s been charged with chauffeuring it to and from the Roadhouse.

They pull up, and Sam insists on running around the other side and opening the door for Dean, the little shit. They head up to the door together, and Dean takes a moment to catch his breath, shaking out his nerves.

Sam looks back at him, hand on the door handle.

“You ready?”

Dean exhales, smiling wide.

“Hell yes.”

  
  


xxx

  
  


“What do I know about sex? I’m a married man.”

―Tom Clancy

  
  
  


“And without any further ado―”

Ellen turns back, lowering her voice.

“What are we doing with the last name situation, gentlemen?”

Cas exchanges a look with Dean.

They both shrug.

Ellen purses her lips, and waves them forward.

“Well, here they are.”

The small crowd dissolves into whoops and cheers, and Castiel smiles sheepishly, raising their clasped hands. Charlie whoops the loudest, pumping her fist. Dean grins, emboldened, and grabs Castiel around his waist, dipping him and kissing him. Castiel laughs, wrapping his arms around Dean and kissing him back, someone wolf-whistling from the audience.

They come back up for air and Dean hops off the makeshift stage, dragging Castiel towards Sam, yelling over the noise.

“I’m _married_ , Sammy! I married Cas!”

“Yes, Dean, we were all there,” snickers Charlie. But she drowns both of them in a hug, squeezing tight.

“Congrats, brother,” Benny says, clapping Dean on the back.

The cheers and congratulations carry on like that for a while, and Castiel’s cheeks start to hurt from smiling so much. Even as everyone presses in around them, offering hugs and kisses and love, Dean doesn’t stop holding his hand. He keeps looking back at Castiel, and every time there’s that soft realization in his eyes, joy sparked with awe and wonder. 

They're here. They're finally here.  
  


The ceremony itself felt like it lasted barely half an hour―they skipped over a lot of the traditional stuff, no grand sermons, no escorting down the aisle or anything like that. But the Roadhouse looked beautiful―strings of lights decking out the whole place, with flowers on every table. Ellen officiated, Sam was Dean’s best man, obviously, and Charlie Cas’s maid of honor. They both gave kickass speeches that had both of them misting up, even if Dean tried to hide it. Bobby came from South Dakota, Becky, Ash, Jo, and of course, Benny and Andrea. Gabriel whirled in about half an hour late and nearly disrupted the speeches with a long rambling story from when he and Castiel were kids―luckily Sam was close enough to stand up and wrestle him into a seat.

Ellen ended her officiating duties by pronouncing them married―then brought out the food, and all the alcohol. Castiel quickly lost track of how many champagne flutes got shoved into his hands, caught up in the euphoria of his friends and family surrounding them, Dean at his side.

There’s cake (and pie), and dancing. Charlie has a small mountain of disposable cameras and is acting like a one-woman army of paparazzi. Dean’s phone is hooked up to the sound system and is blasting out all of his favorites, as well as a few others.

“Why the hell is a Natasha Bedingfield song playing right now?” Sam wonders, and Castiel chokes on his champagne.

x

After a rousing chorus of Bohemian Rhapsody, Dean grabs his elbow.

“Hey, come outside for a sec?” He says in his ear. “Wanna show you something.”

Castiel smiles and takes Dean’s hand, letting himself be led outside into the parking lot. He’s long since abandoned his jacket and tie, but the cool night air is refreshing, clearing his head. He squeezes Dean’s hand gently.

“You didn’t bring me out here just so we could make out, did you?”

Dean throws a grin back at him.

“No,” he says, smirking. “But I wouldn’t exactly say no.”

He gives him a quick peck on the lips, before leading Castiel over to a gleaming cream-colored car, spreading his arms.

“Well?” Dean asks, smiling. “What do you think?”

Castiel blinks, not understanding.

“You...you bought me a car?”

Dean tucks his hands in his pockets, sidling up to Castiel.

“I know we said no gifts, but…” He shrugs. “You did the whole grand gesture thing. Figured it was time I returned the favor.”

Castiel walks up to the car, running a hand over the hood. It’s not new, definitely a classic, perhaps as old as the Impala. It’s a little boxy, and sticks out from the other cars in the lot like a sore thumb.

Castiel loves it.

Dean comes up next to him, smiling proudly.

“Redid the whole thing myself,” he says quietly.

Castiel turns to him, mouth parting slightly.

“You did?” He asks, awed.

God, this man really is wonderful.

Dean grins and pops the hood for him, beckoning Castiel closer.

“It’s what I’ve been working on in the garage these last few months,” he says, pointing and showing Castiel. “Took the whole engine out, redid her top to bottom.” His face glows, the happy way it does when Dean talks about something he loves. “Turn it on and she makes barely a whisper.”

Castiel tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. Dean nods.

“Oh yeah. This girl’s electric.”

Castiel can’t stop his jaw from dropping this time.

He just stares at Dean, long enough that he gets a little nervous, shifting his weight back and forth.

“Well?” Dean asks. “She a keeper?”

Castiel answers by taking two swift steps forward, sealing his mouth to Dean’s. Dean laughs, as Castiel kisses him again and again, smiling against his lips.

“Guess that’s a yes,” he murmurs, sliding his hands down Castiel’s sides.

Castiel grins.

“Think how beautiful she’s gonna look sitting next to Baby in the driveway.”

“Novak, I like the way you think,” Dean murmurs, leaning in.

They stay for a minute like that, unhurried. Castiel takes his time kissing Dean, his mouth soft and yielding under his, his breath sweet, touch electric.

Castiel pulls back slightly, breathless.

“Dean?” He murmurs.

Dean leans his forehead against Castiel’s, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Yeah?”

Castiel smiles.

“I’m really, _really_ glad you talked to me that day after Philosophy class.”

Dean laughs, whispering against his lips.

“Best decision I ever made.”

  
  


x

  
  


Castiel’s lost track of the time, but it has to be past midnight. Most people have paired off into their own little corners, them and Sam and Jess the few lone holdouts still on the dance floor. Benny and Andrea left some time ago, and Castiel saw Becky drag an unprotesting Ash into a shady corner about half an hour earlier. Dean’s playlist is still pumping through the Roadhouse’s sound system, and Dean twirls Castiel back and forth, the fairy lights around them turning into a beautiful distorted blur. 

He falls back into Dean’s arms, laughing. 

“Okay, starting to get dizzy.”

Dean laughs, too. The champagne’s put high spots of color on his cheeks, and his eyes look impossibly greener in the dim light, his smile putting the sun to shame. Castiel puts his arms around Dean’s neck, leaning against him. 

“Damn,” he murmurs. “I sure married a catch.”

Dean’s eyes widen for a second, before he laughs, throwing his head back. Even his throat is beautiful. Castiel wants to lick it.

“Okay, Casanova,” Dean says, squeezing his side. “Let’s get you some water.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but allows himself to be led to the bar where Ellen and Bobby are chatting. Bobby looks more animated than Castiel has perhaps seen him be…well, ever―and that’s saying something, considering Castiel usually only sees him at holidays, when the Winchesters typically get smashed off eggnog and spend the night singing off-key Christmas carols.

Dean slaps the bar, grinning widely.

“Some water for my _husband_ ,” he says, stressing the last word proudly. He leans in, whispering loudly to Ellen. “He’s a little drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, you’re drunk,” Castiel mumbles, but sits down on a stool and accepts the water Dean pushes into his hands. He drinks about half of it before he realizes Dean is staring at him, one hand under his head as he props his elbow up on the bar, grinning dopily. 

Castiel abandons his water, and folds his hands under his chin, staring right back. Dean smiles at the challenge and widens his eyes, refusing to blink. 

Heat starts swirling in Castiel’s core, because even if it started as a joke, Dean is so close and his tie is askew, the first button on his shirt undone―and the champagne has turned Castiel’s senses upside down and he just wants to take Dean and kiss the life out of him, until they’re panting and loose and―

Ellen reaches out and cuffs Dean on the ear. He whips around, scowling.

“Ow!”

“Ha!” Castiel slams his hand on the counter. “I win.”

“I’m cuttin’ the two of you off,” Ellen says smugly. “Before you start violating health codes.”

Castiel flushes, but Dean just pulls a face.

“Aw, Ellennnn―”

“Better take this one home, Cas,” Bobby says gruffly, giving Castiel a wink.

Dean smirks, crossing his arms and leaning forward. 

“Fine. We’ll go. As long as you two admit you’ve been making eyes at each other all night.”

Bobby goes red, and Ellen snatches up a rag from the bar, whacking Dean with it.

“Boy, if you don’t get out of here―”

Sam appears from nowhere, grabbing the back of Dean's collar.

“Dude, do you have a death wish?” He hisses.

Dean squawks in glee, looking at Bobby and Ellen’s mortified faces. 

“I _knew_ it, I knew it―”

Sam loops his other arm through Castiel’s and pulls him up, dragging him towards the exit.

“And that’s our cue. Thanks, Ellen! Dean and Cas are officially _leaving_.”

The guests who are still there cheer them on their way out the door, but Dean can’t resist one last word, waggling his ring finger at Bobby.

“You two oughta be next!”

_“Dean.”_

  
  


Sam gets them into the parking lot and bundles Cas into the backseat, and Dean makes to go in after him―but Sam grabs his arm, shaking his head.

“Uh-uh. I saw your little staring match. You’re not going to be doing anything funny back there while I’m driving.”

Dean pouts, but lets himself be manhandled into the front seat. As soon as Sam shuts the door he flops around, smiling goofily at Cas.

They stay like that until Sam drops them off, pulling them unceremoniously out of the car.

“Remember, I’m going to be here at eight to drive you to the airport.”

“Mmhmm,” Dean says, slinging his arms around Cas’s neck, staring into his eyes.

“If you miss your flight, not my problem,” Sam says loudly.

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean says, waving a vague hand in his direction. Cas smiles, leaning in to kiss him, when Sam wraps the pair of them in a gigantic bear hug.

He squeezes them tightly, Dean letting out a muffled yelp of protest as all the air exits his lungs.

“Congratulations, you guys,” Sam says, grinning.

  
  


He leaves with a wave out the window, and Dean and Cas start the monumental task of getting the front door unlocked, seeing as they can’t keep their hands off each other. It finally swings open, and Cas makes as if to go inside, when Dean shoots a hand out, blocking his way.

“Wait, wait.”

His face goes serious, and Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

Dean straightens, gesturing at the threshold.

“Obviously, someone needs to get carried inside.” 

Cas snorts, but leans against Dean, nipping at his ear.

“Okay, Superman, go for it,” he murmurs.

Dean laughs and bends his knees, but the second he gets Cas in his arms, his head starts to spin.

“Whoa, okay….maybe―” Dean lowers Cas and falls back against the door frame. “Not gonna be able to do that.”

Cas huffs and clumsily turns around, squatting down.

“C’mon,” he says, gesturing. “Piggy back.”

Dean grins, and grabs Cas’s shoulders. It takes him a few tries, but he finally manages to hop on. Cas wobbles slightly, adjusting to his weight.

“Whoaaa―”

They stumble inside, laughing, and Cas drops him practically as soon as they get over the threshold. Dean grabs his arm and they go back to kissing, undoing the buttons on each other’s shirts as they make their way down the hall, finally tumbling into bed. They manage to strip down to their underwear, and Cas curls around him, humming against Dean's neck, rubbing a thigh lazily in between his.

Dean arches, luxuriating at the touch, but finds he can’t bring himself to return the effort. The happy stress and excitement of the day have taken their toll, and he’s just too damn exhausted. 

He pokes as Cas’s arm.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Mmm?”

Dean rubs at his eyes.

“I know it’s our wedding night and all, but…” He finds Cas’s eyes. “Would I be the worst husband ever if I just wanted to sleep right now?”

Cas stops, blinking.

“Oh, thank god,” he says, dropping his forehead to Dean’s shoulder. “I thought I was the only one.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, running a hand over Cas’s arm, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’m perfect with just this,” he says softly.

“Sap,” Cas teases.

They lie back, still entwined in each other. Cas’s eyes start to slip closed, and Dean hooks their fingers together, whispering in his ear.

“Good night,” he murmurs. “Castiel Winchester.”

Cas snorts under his breath, opening one eye.

“Good night, Dean Novak.”

Dean pauses.

“Yeah...jury’s still out on that one.”

Cas curls against him, smiling sleepily.

“We have a while to figure it out,” he murmurs.

Dean smiles, and he can feel himself slipping, Cas’s breath slow and steady beside him.

“Hey, Cas?” He says softly.

“Mmph,” comes the grunted reply.

Dean nudges him slightly.

“If we set an alarm, we can fit in a quickie before Sam gets here.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy cockles reference *finger guns*
> 
> boyyyyyyy it's been a while!!! apologies for the wait, friends. I hope it was worth it. I was totally focused on my thab anthology fic for pretty much all of january and february and then this whole shutdown hit and I thought 'hey more time to write!'...but ah, that fickle muse of actually writing.  
> BUT NOW THEYRE MARRIED AHHHHHH


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got no excuse for the delay on this one guy and gals. But it’s over. After six long years, and just in time for Destiel Day, this series is finally complete.  
> So enjoy the boys finally going off on their well-deserved beach trip. (dang, remember when we could actually travel places?)  
> For those of you who have been here since the beginning, I tip my hat to you. For those of you joining us recently, welcome! I hope this is a nice treat to have this story wrapped up in the last days of spn 😭  
> Enjoy.

  
  


“Sex pretty much cures everything.” 

―Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

  
  
  
  


The line inches forward, and Dean drums his fingers against his ticket, chewing at his lip.

Cas continues to ignore him, like he’s been doing for the past five minutes. 

“Maybe I should go pee again,” Dean mutters. “Just in case.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” he shoots back.

“Dean.” Cas puts a hand on his elbow, squeezing gently. “Relax.”

“Relax,” Dean repeats, his voice cranking up. _“Relax?”_

Cas sighs, dropping his hand. Dean continues.

“We’re about to get on a tin can of death and go hurtling through the air at over 500 miles per hour, and you want me to _relax?”_

“Easy on the melodrama there, Shatner,” Cas says under his breath.

“So help me, I will take this neck pillow and shove it up your ass,” Dean hisses.

Cas shrugs, looking down at his ticket.

“There have been worse things up there.”

Dean glares at him.

  
  


After a few minutes, they unfortunately reach the front of the line and have to scan their tickets, passing through the gate. Dean’s sweat glands have gone into overdrive, and he keeps wiping his palms on his jeans, shifting nervously. Cas, however, is cool as a fucking cucumber―smiling first at the flight attendant, then seemingly at every random person that passes by them after they settle into their seats. 

Cas busies himself by setting up with his headphones, his book, etc., but Dean is rigid in his seat, trying to calm his racing heart. He still kind of has the phantom urge to pee, but mostly he just wants to get this show on the road. And he _really_ needs the attendant to come back so he can ask for several hundred of those mini vodka bottles.

He glances over to the seat beside him. Cas is calmly flipping through the in-flight magazine, pausing to skim an article about scuba diving tours.

“How are you so zen about this?” Dean squeaks out. 

Cas just shrugs.

“Well, statistically, you’re much more likely to die in a car or from just being a pedestrian than from flying on an airplane,” he says, turning the page. “The chances of a commercial plane crashing are about one in five million.”

“WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU SAY THAT?” Dean half-yells.

Several heads whip towards them, and Dean hastily shuts his mouth, sinking down in his seat.

Cas pats his hand. 

“It’s a couple hours, Dean. You’ll live.”

Dean grits his teeth, mentally digging through his prolific vocabulary of swear words so he can tell Cas exactly what he thinks of that sentiment―when the plane gives a great lurch, signaling the start of their taxi. Dean squawks and grips the armrest, screwing his eyes shut.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he mutters, shaking his head fervently. “Nuh-uh, no way―I watched Lost, I know how this goes, _shit_ ―”

Cas, for all his teasing before, immediately abandons the magazine and takes Dean’s hand. Dean grips back so hard his knuckles turn white.

The engine kicks into gear, seat rumbling underneath him as the plane starts to pick up speed.

“We’re all gonna die,” Dean moans under his breath.

“Hey, hey, Dean, sweetheart―it’s okay,” Cas says softly. “It’s okay.”

He squeezes Dean’s hand, voice gentle in his ear.

“What can I do?” Cas murmurs. “Tell me.”

Dean takes a deep breath, squeezing Cas’s hand even tighter.

“Just talk,” he mumbles. “Please.”

  
  


Dean feels the armrest lift, and then Cas is pulling Dean close, as best as they can with their seatbelts and limited space. He starts speaking in low tones, so only Dean can hear.

“Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you about what I want to do once we’ve settled in.”

Dean wants to roll his eyes, because of course that would be Cas’s immediate choice in topic―but the plane shudders again underneath them, and Dean presses himself back against his seat, squeezing his eyes shut.

“So, obviously we’ve got the hotel reservation, but there are all kinds of lessons and classes we can take―”

Dean just nods, trying to focus on breathing. 

“You said you wanted to see the reef,” Cas continues, swiping open his schedule on his phone, “And I’m not sure if the dolphin tour has spots, but I can call again, because that would be a once in a lifetime opportunity, obviously―”

They’re going even faster now, have they left the tarmac yet? Are they in the air? Is that feeling Dean's stomach turning itself inside out, getting his body ready for the ultimate demise―

“―and I found a brewery that’s open on Tuesdays―and there’s also this gorgeous nature preserve on the island called the Limahuli Garden, I think? They have self-guided walking tours that are about three hours―”

“What?” Dean blurts, unable to help himself. “ _Three_ hours?”

Cas stops and glances at him, raising an eyebrow. Dean gestures impatiently.

“Cas, dude, it’s Hawaii,” he says firmly. “And our _honeymoon._ I think the only activities are sex, eating, lying on the beach, more sex, and more eating.”

Cas makes a herculean but ultimately failed attempt to suppress his eyeroll.

“Of course,” he says patiently. “But I refuse to be that kind of white tourist who goes to an amazing cultural place and then learns nothing about the people or the land I'm on.”

Dean concedes.

“Okay, valid.”

He huffs out a breath.

“Y'know, I feel like most Americans don’t know about the completely terrible way Hawaii became part of the U.S. in the first place,” he muses.

“I never learned about it,” Cas replies.

“We overthrew the monarchy, Cas,” Dean interrupts. “Illegally.”

“I know,” Cas says, smiling. “Who knew an engineering major could be so well versed in history?”

“You gotta start listening to podcasts, man,” Dean teases. 

“Why would I, when I have you to tell me everything?” Cas says gently, propping his chin on Dean’s elbow.

Dean laughs, and Castiel sits back up, jumping straight back into his proposed itinerary.

“Two weeks is not nearly enough time, but I guess we could always extend our trip,” he continues, brow furrowing slightly. “I’d love to go to Honolulu, if we could swing it, ‘cause there’s this book I checked out from the library―”

Dean can’t help it, he snorts. Because, yes, Cas has a library card like a goddamn octogenarian.

“It’s about this man who started the Polynesian Voyaging Society in the 70’s,” Cas continues, building excitement in his voice. “The goal was to see if they could sail using ancient voyaging techniques that Oceanic people used to navigate the Pacific. So they built a replica canoe called the Hōkūleʻa, and they made it from Hawaii to Tahiti without any modern-day instruments.”

Dean squints.

“Like Moana?” 

Cas huffs a sigh.

“A Disney-fied version, but yes,” he admits grudgingly. “Technically.”

He lets go of Dean’s hand for a moment to rummage for the book in his bag, then coaxes him into looking at a few pictures. Dean has to admit, it does look pretty freakin’ awesome. It’d be way cooler to take a boat like that to get to Hawaii than this stupid plane.

“And I have a colleague that I connected with at my last expo,” Cas says, happily, tucking the book away. “So I’m planning on going to observe her doing some traditional tattoos.” 

Dean smiles.

“That’s awesome, Cas.”

He bites at his lip, then lets out a slightly dramatic sigh.

“Okay, I take it back,” he says. “We can do more than eat and stay in bed.”

Cas winks.

“Don’t worry,” he says, smirking. “We’ll have plenty of time for that, too.”

Dean licks his lips. There’s a challenge in those words, and holy hell, is Dean ready for it.

Then Cas’s eyes lift, and he smiles, nodding towards the window.

“And would you look at that.”

Dean glances over, and is surprised to see nothing but fluffy clouds, the plane’s motion even and smooth beneath them.

“Huh,” he says.

Cas chuckles, kissing his temple. 

“See. Plane’s in the air and we’re all still alive.”

Dean blinks.

“That was...not terrible.”

He looks over, smiling sheepishly.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

Cas nudges him with his elbow.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. Cas reaches into his pocket, then tips something small and white into Dean’s palm.

“Vicodin?” Dean asks incredulously, looking up. “Where’d you get this?”

“Leftover from when I screwed up my knee last year.” Cas pulls out his water bottle too, handing it to Dean. “Just for you.”

If they weren’t already married, Dean might’ve proposed again right there.

“Dude, I love you,” he says, staring at him in awe.

“Yes, I know,” Cas replies, smiling. “Now take it and get some sleep.”

Dean kisses him first, a quick peck on the lips before he pops the Vicodin, leaning back and waiting for it to kick in.

Cas, the little shit, pulls up Moana on his in-flight screen. Dean barely makes it through the opening scene before he slips under into a dreamless sleep.

  
  


x

  
  


The plane makes it across the Pacific in one piece, miraculously. 

From the airport, it’s a hop, skip, and a jump to the hotel―and despite being socked out for most of the flight, Dean’s eyes are drooping when they finally reach the hotel’s front counter. Cas doesn’t look much better, yawning and swaying slightly. 

They need to get to their room, stat. 

“Welcome!” 

The lady behind the desk smiles wide, waving them forward. 

“How can I help you?” She asks, way too perky for Dean’s current mood.

“Hi,” Dean says shortly. “We have a reservation for two, Winchester?”

She smiles warmly.

“Okey doke, let me find your information here…”

She starts typing as Cas yawns again, dropping his forehead against the back of Dean’s shoulder. Dean smiles and pats him tiredly, looking up when the lady finds their info, handing him back his ID.

“Okay, Winchester, reservation for two, twelve nights in our Honeymoon suite!” She smiles again, eyes twinkling. “Lucky you. It’s _very_ nice.”

She starts listing off all the amenities of the suite, and despite such wonderful phrases such as ‘hot tub’, and ‘room service included’, Dean has to interrupt. 

“No, that can’t be right,” he says, shaking his head. The lady raises an eyebrow, and Cas jumps in to clarify.

“I mean―yes, we are on our honeymoon, but that’s, uh...not what we reserved. Too expensive,” he says, smiling apologetically. 

The woman looks back at the screen, shrugging.

“Well...that’s what the computer says. _And_ that it’s already been entirely paid for.”

They stare at her. She holds out two keycards, winking. 

“If it’s a mistake, I’d say just roll with it.”

Dean was wrong―this lady is an angel sent from Heaven.

He peeks over at Cas. He’s squinting, eyeing the room keys in her hand.

“Well...if it’s paid for…” He says slowly.

They only hesitate a moment longer before grabbing the cards, hightailing it away from the desk. The lady calls after them.

“Enjoy your stay!”

  
  


A helpful bellhop shows them out of the main building, down a winding stone path through a beautiful garden. Flowers line the walkway, palm leaves fan above their heads, and it’s delightfully hot, so much that they’re sweating by the time they reach their room―except it’s not a room at all. 

It’s an entire freakin’ _house,_ tucked away from the rest of the hotel, so that they won’t be disturbed. Dean vaguely remembers the lady at the front desk mentioning something about the beach being practically private―and Dean can see sparkling water now, just visible behind the villa. They stop at the great wooden doors, exchanging a look.

“Well.” Cas shrugs. “Here goes nothing.”

He swipes his keycard, and the doors swing open, the two of them stepping inside. Dean looks around, mouth slipping open.

“Ho...ly…” 

“Wow,” Cas breathes.

This is, without a doubt, the fanciest place probably either of them have ever set foot in. It’s absolutely _gigantic_. The front hallway opens up into a spacious living room, all modern with soft accents of wood, a sunken middle area with a coffee table and an insanely comfy-looking couch. Flatscreen TV, absolute must―and one look at the kitchen and Dean is itching to get in there to investigate. One window is entirely glass, showing off the outdoor area, with a glimpse to the ocean beyond.

Cas flails his hand and reaches back, whacking Dean’s arm.

“Ow―”

“Are we dreaming?” Cas asks dazedly. “Or hallucinating from lack of sleep?”

Dean walks over to the giant picture window, pressing his face up against the glass.

“No idea,” he says. “But there’s a hammock outside and I think I need to test it out immediately.”

“Fine, but seriously―”

Cas walks over to the couch, poking at one of the cushions with his finger.

“How long until we get kicked out, do you think?”

Dean turns, shrugging.

“Long enough to fuck on the couch?”

Cas flashes him a quick grin before plopping down face first.

“Ohhhhh my god, this is so soft.” 

Dean snorts, walking into the kitchen, opening up all the cabinets and peering inside.

“I could just sleep here,” Cas says to the cushions.

“Dibs on the bed then,” Dean calls over his shoulder.

Cas lifts his head, his expression quickly turning devilish.

Dean bolts, but Cas is hot on his heels, and he catches him around the waist as they stumble through the bedroom door, laughing as Dean shoves back against him. 

  
  


His grip slips as they take in the bedroom. There’s a gigantic white bed, and actual fucking rose petals are strewn around, which Dean knows Cas would never actually ask the hotel staff to do (“The mess would be ridiculous, Dean”).

And in the middle of the bed, there’s a tray sitting out, with a bottle of chilled champagne, chocolate strawberries, and a card with their names on it.

“Well, I guess that means it’s not a mistake,” Dean snickers.

Cas grabs the letter and scans it quickly, squinting. Dean leans over his shoulder.

“Who’s it from?”

Castiel reaches the end, then snorts.

“Gabriel,” he says, rolling his eyes. He hands Dean the card, which ends up containing a number of lewd suggestions that make even him blush.

“That explains…” Castiel gestures around them. “All this.”

“Trust me, I’m not complaining,” Dean says, tossing the card back on the bed.

“Ugh, I have to call him now,” Cas says, making a face as he pulls out his phone. “Otherwise we’re never going to hear the end of it.”

He pulls on the front of Dean’s shirt for a quick kiss, before Gabe answers and Cas has to respond. 

An explosion of noise comes from the other end and Cas almost has to hold the phone away from his ear. 

Cas rolls his eyes in response, before walking off down the hallway.

“Yes, thank you, Gabe. Yes, the flowers were a nice touch, if a bit theatric.”

Dean grins, flopping back down on the bed (not before moving the tray and petals out of the way so they don’t get crushed). Cas’s voice echoes down the hall.

“You already got us a wedding present, this is really―okay, fine, it’s incredible. But―”

A pause, then a sigh.

“Fine. I will say thank you and shut up now. Tell me all about your thing.”

Dean snorts, letting his eyes slip closed. He can imagine it now, goodness knows he’s had to sit through several of Gabe’s rambling stories before. He’s probably telling Cas all about his new job―something with electric cars, Dean remembers. 

Cas is being way too good, indulging Gabriel with little ‘ah’s and ‘mhm’s on the phone, and Dean drifts, feeling tiredness pulling him under. Time differences really are a bitch. He can take a quick nap, maybe...close his eyes for just a second…

  
  


x

  
  


“Please, touch me, I pray.”

―Jess C. Scott

  
  
  


The shower is running when Dean wakes up.

He blinks a second, disoriented. The sun is low in the sky, almost twilight, and Dean’s stomach gives a rumbling growl. He sits up, stretching, and winces when he gives himself a sniff. He needs to wash the plane off him. The bed is _insanely_ comfy, though. He feels rested, wide awake, despite the time. This is _the_ night, after all.

Dean grins. Time to get this party started.

He hops up, and quickly shimmies out of his clothes, approaching the bathroom and sliding back the door into the steamy room. 

Shower sex is complicated, but hey―Dean’s up for the challenge.

“Hey,” he murmurs, slipping behind Cas. 

“Hey, yourself,” Cas says back, smiling. He drags his hands through his hair, and water drips down over his back, over warm golden skin, leading directly to the attractive dimples over his ass. Dean slides his hands to Cas’s hips, pressing his lips to the back of his neck.

“This hotel has a gym,” Cas says, rinsing the last of the lather from his hair.

“I can’t wait to never see it,” Dean replies, smiling against his skin. Cas snorts.

He turns around, squirting out some shampoo that smells like mint into his hands, rubbing it into Dean’s hair. Dean closes his eyes, luxuriating in Cas’s touch.

“Did you get a nap?” He asks, slurring a little.

“Mmhmm,” Cas says absently, combing over Dean’s scalp, massaging gently. “Thanks for hogging the bed, by the way.”

Dean peeks open an eye.

“Sorry.”

Cas smiles.

“It’s okay. I got to test out the couch.”

Dean rubs slow circles over Cas’s hipbones with his thumbs, closing his eyes again as Cas helps rinse the suds from his hair. Cas reaches to put the shampoo back and groans a little as a joint in his back pops. 

“Ooh,” he says, wincing. “Might be sore tomorrow.”

“Thought that was my job,” Dean jokes.

He slides his hands around to Cas’s ass, teasing to go lower. But Cas takes Dean's hands and gently removes them, shaking his head.

Dean lifts an eyebrow. Cas isn’t one to turn down a quick fool around, even in the shower.

So he’s surprised when Cas backs him against the wall, Dean inhaling as the cold tile chills his skin. 

Cas moves closer until Dean is pinned against the tile, Cas’s hands gently keeping Dean in place.

This is doing nothing to help calm his dick.

Cas leans in close and slots their mouth together, easy and slow. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs, and that turns Dean’s insides into liquid.

Cas smiles, then backs up, turning off the water.

“Dinner?” He asks innocently, before leaving the shower.

Dean’s left with his mouth half open and sporting a semi, frozen until Cas throws a towel in his direction.

  
  


He emerges from the bathroom about a half hour later, after trying to jerk off and abandoning it in frustration. He picked one of his better outfits, comfortable jeans and a dark green henley that he _knows_ Cas likes. He feels nervous for some reason, like he’s going on a first date. 

He comes out of the room and the lights are low, the doors thrown open to let in the cool night breeze. 

Dean walks outside. There’s a fire pit, crackling merrily away, throwing jumping shadows over a table where there’s already a magnificent spread laid out. Cas is standing there, holding a bottle of wine and a glass, which he holds out to Dean.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, smiling.

Cas clearly made the effort to dress up too. He’s got on a black shirt with the first few buttons undone, exposing his throat, the sleeves rolled back to the elbow, showing off his tan forearms. In the light of the setting sun he almost glows.

“Hey,” Dean says, taking the glass and looking around. “What is all this?”

Cas lifts one shoulder, tilting his head.

“It’s our first night here. Figured we should make it memorable.”

Dean swallows, and sits, a rising flush on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat.

“I ordered for you,” Cas says. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah,” Dean says. “You know me too well. Unless you got me a hippy dippy salad to fuck with me on purpose.”

“I would never,” Cas says innocently.

Turns out, room service makes a pretty kick-ass ribeye steak, with mashed potatoes so good Dean could almost cry. He even steals some of Cas’s curry-roasted vegetable whatever, which is also delicious as hell, even though he’ll never admit it. 

They sit, talking about nothing in particular, watching the sunset, everything turning to dark midnight blues around them. It’s still pleasantly warm, and completely quiet except for the hum of insects and the lap of water against the shore. The bottle of wine has left Dean pleasantly loose, but instead of feeling sleepy, like he normally does, it just lights the fire that’s been slowly simmering in his belly.

They clean up, and Cas hasn’t so much as tried to touch him, except for a quick kiss on the cheek before they sat down to dinner. He then asks if Dean wants to watch TV, which he agrees to, suspiciously. 

Cas turns the TV on and flips it to something with a canned laugh track, and that’s how Dean _knows_ something is up, because Cas absolutely hates those kinds of shows.

Cas drapes his arm over Dean, slowly stroking over his arm as they sit there.

Dean is itching out of his skin, curled all up next to Cas. He’s ready to go―has been since Cas shut him down in the shower a few hours ago. It’s their goddamn honeymoon, and if Dean can’t fuck the life out of his husband, what’s the goddamn point?

“I think I’ll take a swim,” Cas says suddenly.

Dean blinks at him.

“What?” He blurts.

Cas glances toward the picture window, still open to the night air.

“We have a private beach,” he says thoughtfully, biting at his bottom lip. “I checked earlier, and no one can really see us. And now it’s too dark, so.”

“O...kay?” Dean says slowly, still not exactly sure where Cas is going with this.

Cas stands, and drops his shirt and pants right there.

Dean’s jaw drops.

Cas strides outside, naked as the day he was born, onto the beach.

“I’ve married a crazy person,” Dean says to the empty room.

  
  


He nearly trips over his pants in his haste to get them off. 

Dean walks outside, shivering a little, feeling exposed as he walks over the soft sand, feeling it sink beneath his feet.

He looks around nervously, but Cas was right. It’s near pitch dark, and even if the nosiest of Petunia Dursley types stuck their nose out their windows and tried to spy, they’d see nothing but two dark shapes on dark sand. 

From where Dean’s standing, however, it’s a great view. Castiel is nothing more but an outline in the shallow water, lit by moonlight. He’s up to about his waist, hiding his nakedness, staring upwards at the pale stars. Waves wash slowly against his sides, his fingers just touching the surface of the water. 

Dean breathes, stepping forward into the surf. It’s perfectly warm, like getting into a hot bath. Dean wades out to where Cas is standing. Despite the warmth, his skin erupts into goosebumps, nervous roiling energy simmering underneath. He comes to a stop next to Cas, and Cas turns, facing Dean. His hair is disheveled and wet, glittering with sea water.

He reaches out, wordless, cupping Dean’s cheek. 

Dean goes willingly, slipping his hands to Cas’s waist. 

They fit together so naturally, slotting in like puzzle pieces. Kissing with Cas has always been good, but now they’ve perfected it, knowing just where to touch to light each other on fire. Cas knows Dean likes it when he tilts his head up, his hand wide and warm on his jaw, just tight enough to feel the flutter of Dean’s pulse. Cas likes it when Dean touches his sides, just beneath his ribs, running his hands over the flourishes of ink and color in his skin. 

Cas tightens his grip on the back of Dean’s hair, pulling him in impossibly closer, opening up to taste him, and Dean moans, feeling himself react to Castiel’s touch, the possessive way that he maneuvers him as he kisses the life out of him. 

Cas is growing hard too, Dean can feel him pressing insistently against the curve of his hip, but he’s making no moves besides kissing him thoroughly, narrowing the world down to the point shared between their lips.

Cas pulls back from him a moment, smiling, brushing his thumbs over Dean’s cheekbones. Dean blinks back at him, dazed.

“Easy tiger,” Dean whispers. “I think you might’ve fried a few of my brain cells.”

Cas’s answering grin is devilish, the darkness making his midnight eyes look almost black.

“That was the idea,” he murmurs back, his voice slipping into a lower octave. Dean shivers, a pleasant warm feeling running through his belly. His grip on Cas’s waist turns more insistent, his small rutting motions getting more and more desperate as he tries to seek friction against him in the slippery water.

“Looks like it worked,” Cas murmurs, biting at Dean’s bottom lip, and Dean mock growls in response.

“Yeah?” Dean pushes him back and Cas falls back a little, splashes down in the water. It’s still shallow enough that his torso is mostly still exposed to the air, and Dean climbs on top of him, the rough sand scraping his shins as he kneels on top of Cas, grinding down against him.

“What did you expect?” Dean thrusts his hips forward, nipping at Cas’s ear. “You teasing me like that in the shower.”

Cas is breathing hard now, looking up at him with lidded eyes as Dean straddles him, their clumsy rutting adding to the sloppy chop of water around them. It’s getting good, they’re really into a rhythm now, and Dean is panting against Cas’s ear, reaching down, and―

“OW―oh, fuck―”

Cas hisses at the same time Dean withdraws his hand, and he goes toppling backwards off him, splashing into the water.

Cas surfaces, spluttering. Dean blinks seawater out of his eyes, cupping himself and cringing at the raw feeling on his skin.

“Was that―”

“Sand,” Cas says in disgust, spitting water. He sits up, wincing. “ _Jesus_ , that is exactly where i don’t want sand to go, shit―”

Dean grabs his hand, pulling him up out of the water. Cas splashes water up onto himself, scowling.

“Okay, so maybe sex in the water wasn’t the best idea,” Dean says, taking Cas’s wrist before he smites the ocean himself. “Should've known sand would get freakin’ everywhere.”

They trudge back out in the shallow water, holding hands, Cas wincing and kicking out when he steps on a rock. They finally make it to the shadowy beach, and Dean can practically see the dark clouds forming over Cas’s head.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping in close. “You wooed me alright? It was very romantic.”

“Sand in the dick,” Cas mutters, but he lets Dean pull him in, hands coming to settle on his waist. “Very romantic.”

Dean leans in, wrapping his arms around Cas's neck.

“What do you say, we hop in that hot tub, make sure we’re all rinsed off, then we can move things to the bedroom?” He asks lowly.

“So we can smell like chlorine?” Cas mutters, but there’s a small quirk to his lips, and he’s smiling.

“Fine. Shower, then bed.”

Dean cups his face and kisses him slowly. 

“Let’s take this inside.”

  
  


They end up back where they started, in the shower with water pulsing down around them, but this time, Cas lets Dean put his hands wherever he wants. He sucks Cas’s dick under the pretense of getting it _thoroughly_ clean and rid of sand, even though his knees groan in protest at being on the hard tile. 

Luckily, Cas gets impatient quickly, and deeming them squeaky clean, pulls Dean up and takes him to the bedroom.

  
  


Cas falls back against the sheets and Dean climbs on top of him, kissing him deeply as he drags his hands down his chest. Cas brings his hand to cup the back of Dean’s head as he kisses him, slow, but demanding, nipping slightly at his bottom lip as his other hand digs into Dean’s hip. Dean presses forward slowly, letting the anticipation and heat build.

The windows are open to the night air, the wind blowing. It’s warm and the air is sweet, water and sweat drying on their skin.

Dean takes Cas’s hand, kissing over the Celtic knot pattern on his wrist. He’s always liked that one, the black and white lines, the simplicity. He moves up, kissing his knuckles, then, looking up to meet Cas’s eyes, sucks his first two fingers into his mouth. 

Cas inhales, and his grip tightens on Dean’s ass, just the barest scrape of nails that sends Dean tingling.

Dean continues, moaning a little as he gets lost in it, getting Cas’s fingers thoroughly wet and ready. Cas only holds out for a few moments longer before he snaps, swiftly sitting up and bringing his other hand to Dean’s jaw.

“Turn around,” he murmurs.

  
  


Dean grins and does in Cas’s lap, settling back. Cas grunts a little, because Dean ain’t exactly light, but he smiles as Dean braces himself, starting up a small swivel, rocking his hips back and forth. Cas’s other hand lightly skims, just hovering, never quite touching, up the inside of his legs, the skin just between thigh and pelvis, and Dean pants, clenching in anticipation.

With a hand on his waist, Cas hikes Dean higher on his lap, his fingers drifting down. At the first press of wet fingers, Dean sucks in a breath. Cas smirks, pressing into the first knuckle. Dean turns and breathes into his neck, breath coming hard and short.

Behind him there’s a click of a bottle, and then Cas’s fingers are back, sliding two inside him with barely a burn. Dean huffs out a throaty chuckle.

“Cheeky bastard,” he smirks. He feels Cas smile against his cheek.

“You kidding?” He asks. “I stashed it under the pillow the minute we got here.”

Dean laughs again, but then Cas twists his wrist and it turns into a punched-out moan, his head sinking back.

“This okay?” Cas breathes. Dean nods rapidly, not trusting himself to speak at this point.

Cas’s voice lowers.

“Does that feel good?”

Dean gasps, Cas’s other hand tightening on his hip.

“Oh― _fuck_ , yes. Yes,” he pants.

Cas is breathing raggedly against Dean’s cheek, just as affected as he is.

“Faster or slower?” He asks, sliding in a third finger to join the other two.

“Faster. Please. Please, Cas―”

Cas obliges, and Dean moans, balancing on this knife point of haze and ultra-keen awareness, hyper sensitive to every crook of Cas’s fingers. He falls to his hands, on all fours on the bed as Cas continues opening him up, shivering in pleasure.

“Cas,” he breathes, and Cas shushes him, reaching a hand up to run down Dean’s spine, leaving a delicate flush in his wake. Cas lands a couple of cool kisses to his neck before easing Dean onto his back, hovering over him. 

Dean’s chest is heaving, and when Cas moves to position himself, his hand finds Dean's shoulder, and Dean bites his lip, sucking in a breath. 

Cas clocks it immediately, tilting his head.

“What?” He asks, stroking over Dean’s stomach.

“What do you mean, what?” Dean asks, playing innocent.

Cas leans down, hovering over Dean’s lips. 

“You got that look in your eye,” he whispers, and Dean shudders.

“I plead the fifth,” he replies, gasping as Cas’s hand returns to Dean’s cock, stroking him back to full hardness.

Cas brackets Dean’s legs with his own, sitting up tall, slotting next to Dean to grind up against him.

“Say it,” he whispers.

Dean flushes, but holds Cas’s gaze.

“Can you hold me down?” He breathes.

Cas licks his lips and swoops down to kiss him, lining himself up.

“Your wish is my command,” he murmurs, and pushes inside Dean.

Dean inhales on a moan, and Cas settles in, pressing a slow kiss to Dean’s neck. He reaches up, intertwining their fingers and squeezing Dean’s hand briefly before taking both of his wrists and pressing them up above his head. Cas starts a slow rocking movement with his hips, thrusting into him.

Dean feels completely caged in and held down, safe in Cas’s body bracketing him, everything else falling away. Cas holds him, their lips just brushing, their movements syncing as they rock together, rolling like the ocean, like the tide.

“Kiss me,” Dean breathes, and Cas obliges, kissing him deep, only breaking to press his forehead against Dean’s, little grunts of exertion coming from his mouth.

Dean drifts, not sure how long they last like that, wrapped up as tight as possible. Dean asks Cas to go slow, and he does, long, thick strokes that have Dean's toes curling and him crying out, hands clenching, gripping at the sheets above his head. 

Cas presses forward, grinding his hips dirty and deep, and Dean gasps, coming unexpectedly between them, panting for air. 

“Fuck,” Cas grits out, and then he’s thrusting faster, releasing Dean’s wrists. 

Dean wraps his arms around Cas and clings to him, whispering in his ear, urging him on until Cas stutters and spills too, swearing under his breath.

They don’t move for several long moments, just breathing, Dean carding his fingers through Cas’s sweaty hair. 

“That was….” Dean trails off. There’s no words for how that was.

“Yeah,” Cas whispers. “Holy shit.”

He shifts and Dean groans as Cas slips out of him, both of them messy and covered in sweat. Dean’s almost tempted to get in the shower again, but he’s pretty sure all of his muscles have turned to liquid.

Cas rolls over and Dean throws an arm over him, both of them pressing in close, legs tangling together. Cas kisses Dean again before settling into his arms, making a vague attempt to clean up as he throws the sheets from the bed. They don’t need them anyway.

Cas finds his hand again, and they lace their fingers together.

"You know, we never did drink that champagne."

Dean lifts his head, squinting.

"Oh yeah."

He drops it back down to the pillow. 

"I kinda want those strawberries, but I'm pretty sure I cannot physically get up right now."

Castiel chuckles.

"Me neither."

He brushes the tip of his nose against Dean’s, smiling.

“Thank you for doing this,” he whispers, after a moment.

Dean smiles back.

“What? For having your dick up my ass?” He smirks. “Nothing new there.”

“Shut up,” Cas says, but he’s grinning. “I mean coming here. I know it wasn’t first on your list.”

Dean shrugs. Yeah, sure, he’d rather have gone somewhere in the contiguous United States, but their Hawaii honeymoon has turned out to be pretty damn awesome.

Cas kisses him again, a mischievous look in his eye.

“You got on a plane for me.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant. “I love you.”

Cas throws his arms around Dean’s neck, smiling smugly.

“You _flew_ for me,” he teases, kissing him. “My _hero_.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean fake complains, tangling his fingers in Cas’s hair. “Don’t push it.”

Cas grins and punishes him with more sloppy kisses, but Dean supposes, as Cas kisses him again, that isn’t really a punishment at all.

  
  


xxx

  
  


“My wife wants sex in the back of the car and she wants me to drive.”

―Rodney Dangerfield

  
  
  


Dean clutches at his side, struggling to keep up with Cas.

“I’m―never―marrying you―again,” he pants.

Castiel glances back over his shoulder, grinning.

“It’ll be worth it,” he says, holding out the water bottle for Dean to take. “I promise.”

Dean glares at him, but grabs the offered water and chugs nearly half of it before hustling after Cas again. 

  
  


After another exhausting half hour, they finally make it up the hill, and even though Dean’s calves are burning and he’s covered in bug bites from head to toe and sweating an undignified amount―the sight before them is amazingly beautiful.

Dean didn’t think a place could be so _green_. The mountains are absolutely covered in lush green leaves, looking like something right out of Jurassic Park. Flowers bloom, a splash of bright color among the green, and just past the trees they can see the ocean beyond, a beautiful stripe of darker blue against the cloudless sky.

“Wow,” Castiel says softly.

“Yeah,” Dean echoes. “Wow.”

  
  


“Alright, come here,” Cas says, slinging an arm around Dean’s neck. “We gotta get a picture.”

They take some obnoxious selfies and pics of the surrounding view that Cas immediately sends off to their group chat with Charlie and Sam, accompanied by a string of emojis. 

They go kayaking, they go snorkeling. They go to Waimea Bay, and Dean geeks out over being in the actual spot of the Jan and Dean song before Cas googles it and officially bursts his bubble, as it actually refers to a bay of the same name in O’ahu and not Kaua’i. He also proudly tells Dean it means ‘reddish water’ in Hawaiian. Unfortunately for Dean, Cas has taken up Duolingo, and he tends to practice at night right before they go to bed, so most nights find Dean trying to fall asleep listening to that judgmental green owl.

They sign up for surfing lessons, and Dean finally finds something that Cas is not immediately good at.

Cas splutters as he pops his head out of the water after his sixth time falling off the board, a scowl on his face.

“This is stupid,” he mutters, pulling himself up and back onto the board, flopping on top of it in a thoroughly petulant manner.

“Aww, gettin’ frustrated, babe?” Dean asks with a shit-eating grin.

“Alright, let’s see you do it,” Castiel shoots back.

  
  


Their instructor, an overly cheery man named Garth, waves from his board.

  
“No worries, no worries! It happens to all of us, Castiel.”

He paddles closer, gesturing exaggeratedly as he explains.

“Just try to keep your knees bent, and your center of gravity low. Don’t forget to adjust your feet once you stand!”

Castiel just grunts.

Dean smirks.

“Alright, my turn.”

He waits for the coming wave and as the crest starts to hit him, Dean pushes himself up, standing on wobbly legs.

“Look I’m doing it, I’m doing it, I―”

Dean manages to stand for about six seconds before he goes plummeting into the water.

  
  
  
  


That night, Cas splays out on their bed, like a starfish, face down as Dean straddles his hips.

“Ow, ow, owwwWWWWW.”

“Hold still.”

“It’s just― _ow_.”

“You regularly stick a needle into your skin, dude.”

“This is― _ouch,_ different.”

“Not my fault you fell and didn't reapply your sunscreen,” Dean says airily. “I _told_ you.”

He squeezes more aloe out onto Cas’s back, and he hisses, flinching.

“Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Cas’s voice gets muffled as he buries his head into the sheets. “Cold.”

Dean proceeds to rub in the aloe into Cas’s skin, which is a truly impressive shade of lobster red. Dean knows from experience that once it heals, Cas will just get an even more mouth-watering shade of tan. Whereas when Dean gets a sunburn, he gets ridiculously red and then turns into one giant freckle.

Life isn’t fair sometimes.

But it’s why Dean was incredibly careful earlier that day to reapply his sunscreen every chance he got. Cas, on the other hand, had been pouting over his poor surfing performance when they took their break, and didn’t reapply, even as Dean reminded him.

“Well, day five on the beach.” Dean shrugs. “It was bound to happen.”

He finishes and gets up, swinging his leg off of Cas, Cas hissing again as Dean jostles him.

“I’m never moving again.”

Dean chuckles and goes to the bathroom, grabbing a bottle from the medicine cabinet.

“Take an Advil,” he says, holding it out to Cas, shaking it. “It helps, I promise.”

Castiel gives him a death glare, but takes the bottle and dry swallows two pills. 

Then he faceplants again, and Dean brushes a hand through his hair, leaving him to it.

He goes back out to the living room, grabbing a beer and flipping on the TV.

He surfs for a while, finally finding a rerun of Coming to America, and Dean settles in, ready to laugh and recite all the lines along with Eddie Murphy.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out, seeing an incoming FaceTime from Sam. He grins and swipes it open, Sam's face filling the screen.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean says. “Isn’t it like...11 o’clock there?”

“Yeah, but―”

“I can’t see―”

Someone snatches the phone from Sam, and Dean has to endure a few queasy moments as Jess’s face dances into view.

“Hey, Dean,” she says grinning from ear to ear. Dean smiles back, but is instantly suspicious.

“Hi, Jess,” he says. “What’s up? You’re never this smiley past your bedtime.”

Sam squeezes his face into the frame, craning his neck.

“C’mon, I gotta see his face,” he tells Jess. He’s smiling too, practically glowing. Dean raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh my god. You―”

Jess bites her lip, glancing over at Sam.

“Okay, not trying to rain on your parade and all, but―”

“Rain away,” Dean says, grinning.

Jess flashes her hand up into the camera, a sparkling ring on her finger.

“Hey-o!” Sam says from the background, looking like for all the world he just won the lottery.

“DUDE!” Dean yells, before he remembers Cas in the bedroom.

He gets up quickly and goes outside by the hot tub, sitting in one of the deck chairs.

“Dude,” he says again. “Sam, you sly dog, I thought you were gonna wait ‘til we got back!!”

Sam shrugs.

“Yeah, well, she kinda asked me first. Sooooo, we’re engaged!”

Jess squeals, wiggling her ring finger again.

“YES, I finally get a sister,” Dean says gleefully, punching the air. “And a friggin’ cool one at that.”

Jess laughs. 

“I’d say I finally get a cool brother, but my _actual_ brother might get mad at me for that.”

Sam sighs, looking over at Jess. Dean can practically see the stars in his eyes. 

“Don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“Still time to run, Jess,” Dean says, winking. “You’re too good for him.”

“I know,” she says, smiling. “But I’ll keep him around.”

Sam throws his arms around her neck and sloppily kisses her cheek while she squawks and pretends to hate it. Dean suffers through the motion sickness and congratulates them, his heart swelling.

They catch each other up after that. Dean tells them all about the past few days and gives them a tour of their swanky villa, and Jess tells him about her upcoming exhibition at the studio, and Sam has some big new cases he’s working on. Dean listens and then his phone is beeping at him to recharge the battery, and Jess takes that as the cue to end the call.

“Love you, future brother-in-law,” she says, “But it’s almost midnight so….bye.”

Jess blows a kiss at the camera before disappearing. Dean laughs. He’s gotta appreciate Jess's ability to not drag out a call. Sam says something to her that Dean can't hear, then turns back to his phone, waving a goodbye.

“Alright. Guess I'll talk to you soon.”

“For sure,” Dean says. 

Sam smiles, and Dean speaks up.

“Hey man,” he says, before Sam can end the call. “I’m so proud of you. Really.”

Sam smiles, wide and brilliant. Dean’s seen that expression before, after Cas said yes.

Turns out love looks good on the Winchesters.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam says. “It feels crazy, but so great. It’s gonna be amazing.”

“And hey!” Dean says cheekily, winking. “You already know a great wedding planner.”

Sam laughs. 

“I think I’ll leave it up to Charlie this time.”

“Bye, Sam. Love you.”

“Love you, too, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

  
  
  


xxx

“And yet another moral occurs to me now: Make love when you can. It's good for you.” 

― Kurt Vonnegut

  
  
  


The next morning, Dean brings Cas his coffee. He’s up, but hasn’t got out of bed, doodling in his sketchbook.

Dean hands him his coffee, and settles in next to him, cuddling up on his shoulder. A breeze blows in through the window, white curtains fluttering in the wind, the morning sun painting everything in vibrant colors.

There’s scribbles, sketches, various doodles all over the page. Eyes, Charlie, the beach and the waves crashing on the show. There’s even a sketch of Baby.

“That one’s the best,” Dean says, brushing a thumb over the edge of the drawing. Cas smiles.

“Yeah, but you’re biased.”

“You oughta draw your girl, right next to her,” Dean says, smiling.

Cas blows a breath out his nose, chuckling.

“I still can’t believe you got me a car.”

“You love it,” Dean says, nosing against his arm.

Castiel shifts his sketchbook, casually shrugging his shoulders.

“Remains to be seen. I haven’t even driven it yet.”

Dean nudges him with his foot, scowling.

Cas just smirks, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Dean’s temple.

Deann sips at his coffee, watching as Cas starts on a new sketch, an assortment of random lines, twisting together in a beautiful pattern.

Dean leans his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

“That’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” Castiel says absently, turning the page. Dean snuggles closer.

“Just don’t draw me.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks, looking over and brushing the hair from Dean’s eyes. “You’re my favorite subject.”

Dean scoffs.

“Since when?”

Castiel pauses, chewing at his lip.  
  


Dean narrows his eyes.

“What?”

Cas flips to the front of his book, and there’s Dean, over and over again, his eyes, his face, his lips. Some even of him naked, sleeping.

Dean looks up.

“You drew all of these? Of me?”

Cas nods.

“This book is old, though, I might even…”

He flips a few pages, and finds a few sketchy drawings of a younger Dean, his brow furrowed in thought, pencil in his hand.

Dean looks up, stunned. Cas shrugs.

“I pretty much doodled you in every single class,” he says softly.

“Dude.”

A slow grin spread across Dean’ face.

“You’re such a stalker.”

“You were the stalker first,” Cas retorts.

Dean laughs.

“Fair.”

Cas flips back to a fresh page, and Dean leans back against Cas’s shoulder, shaking his head.

“Wow, we really were gone on each other.”

Cas cringes slightly.

“I try not to remember how stupid we were.”

“Yeah, but it all worked out in the end,” Dean says, smiling.

Cas picks up his pencil again, starting on a new sketch, and after a few moments Dean recognizes the outlines of his own face.

“Man, that’s not even a good picture,” he teases, but is secretly thrilled.

Castiel nudges him playfully.

"At least wait 'til I'm done to judge."

They’re silent as Cas continues drawing, long strong lines across the page.

“Hmm.”

Dean looks up.

“What?”

“Just thinking,” Cas says.”Maybe I could get your face tattooed next.”

Dean pushes back, scoffing.

“Aw, Cas, come on.”

“Nice and big,” Cas says, gesturing. “Right on my bicep.”

“You do and I’ll divorce you right away.”

“I mean, I already have your name, I could just add on ‘my true love, my one and only’ underneath―”

Dean tackles him to the bed, and Cas laughs as Dean seizes at his sides, tickling him and attacking him with kisses.

  
  
  


The sketchbook gets tossed to the floor, but neither of them notice. Their coffee goes cold on the nightstand as the sounds of love and laughter carry out on the breeze, across the ocean and to the brilliant blue sky.

xxx

“Love is friendship. Just with less clothes, which makes it far more brilliant.”  
― Elizabeth Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!!!!!
> 
> Yes, the hokulea is a real thing!!! Go look it up and read about it, it’s friggin’ awesome. Tbh a lot of this chapter was me self-indulgently saying 'how many random Hawaii facts can I cram into this fic'
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @chevrolangels!!! Love you all 💕


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